


UF Origins: Season 1, Episode 4: The Border Patrol

by stgjr, Turandokht, Voyager989



Series: UF Origins [5]
Category: Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms, Mass Effect - All Media Types, Multi-Fandom, Star Trek, Universal Century Gundam
Genre: F/F, Multiple Crossovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-14
Packaged: 2019-09-14 05:49:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16907283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stgjr/pseuds/stgjr, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turandokht/pseuds/Turandokht, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voyager989/pseuds/Voyager989
Summary: Dramatis Personae:https://archiveofourown.org/works/16283531/chapters/38090123





	1. Chapter 1

_**Introduction** _

Sometimes, life on the  _Huáscar_ actually was quiet. If one discounted the drills, and then the additional drills, and then the drills that followed those. But it at least had some kind of  _routine,_ and right now, in transit after leaving drydock, that was true enough, leaving the usual small knot of officers that had begun to gather at the ship’s civilian café. “It still kind of upsets me that she won’t let anyone use the holodecks for, well, anything,” Violeta grumbled softly, continuing the conversation.

“Except training, and then more and more training,” Anna answered, stirring her coffee. They were sitting by the windows in Café Varna, the stars streaking in front of them.

Already someone had dared remark on the similarity of the café’s name to the name of the  _Captain’s clan,_ which had gotten both a dressing down for impoliteness and borderline insubordination, and Alexandra’s epic rage as the woman had ranted about how Varna was a glorious and legendary Bulgarian city of seaside pleasure and relaxation. Thinking about Alexandra saying ‘pleasure and relaxation’ made Violeta giggle again, even though she felt like a bad person for doing it.

“Yeah, about that,” Violeta said as she shook her head. “I get the point. But the crew needs to unwind  _together,_ not just wander off on shore leave and get pasted at dive bars. And Gersal doesn’t exactly even have many of those.”

Anna rubbed her face. “You know, there’s a part of me that still gibbers that holodecks are magic dream boxes, Violeta. Maybe that has something to do with the Captain’s regulations, but I really get the sense that she thinks, sincerely, that they’re just unfair in their allocation of resources. She’s a straight shooter like that, you know.”

“Where’d you pick  _that_ one up?” Violeta asked, changing the subject. She didn’t want to admit she was just upset because she couldn’t continue her RPG. She thought she had other, valid points that were concerning, too. But a part of her was telling herself she was upset because she couldn’t continue her RPG.

“Oh, Chief Dugan, of course. He’s very quotable.”

“That guy’s something else,” Violeta laughed. “You wouldn’t think him the type, honestly, to do what he did for the Captain.”

“He has a  _really_ intense sense of right and wrong at the level of a common man’s fairness,” Anna countered. “It’s closeness to others which makes genocide possible, the cycle of hatred. The distance of humans and Dilgar meant he just felt they weren’t getting a fair shake, and that was worth fighting over.”

“It’s funny that you and so many people on this ship say that,” Violeta drank her own tea, her face twisting up in an expression of thought. “The common wisdom is that closeness makes peoples understand and respect each other more.”

“A maudlin sentiment of those who don’t know conflict, respectfully; ask a Russian if they like a Pole, or a German. But the French love us, in more than one universe too.”

“That’s kind of sad. Well,” Violeta cut off abruptly as a shadow crossed her.

“Commander, Lieutenant, forgive me,” Arterus began, holding a cup of his own as he stepped over.

“Oh, no, no, take a seat, we’re just discussing utterly irrelevant things,” Violeta waved her hand insistently. “That’s that terribly strong Rihannsu coffee you’ve got, isn’t it?”

“No, Alexandra convinced me to try the strongest of her’s. It’s… Tolerable,” he chuckled as he sat. But his own look was pensive. “Ladies, I admit I have an unusual question. I’m worried about my cousin and I wanted to go check up on her.”

“There’s nothing unusual about that,” Anna answered. She knew. Her own efforts to find her family had quietly consumed most of her leaves in which she had been able to return to her home universe, even though the chance was steadily fading that they had survived. “But why’s that related to the question?”

“She may be in danger, and the Captain granted me both leave and permission to take along any volunteers that I wanted to.”

“Ooh, I see,” Anna finished her mug with a swig. “Danger? Ask Colonel Fei’nur.”

“Do you really think…?”

“It’s worth a shot,” Violeta agreed.

“I suppose I must, then, if y--” He was cut off by a truly incredible sound. For the first time, Zhen’var had had Chief Dugan around when an alert was being called.

A bosun’s whistle was a particular kind of horrifying  _intense_ human invention which sent an electric shock down the spine. They all looked at each other in surprise. Then the alarms sounded, the klaxon blaring from stem to stern.

“ _Condition Red, Condition Red, General Quarters! Set MC ZEBRA throughout the ship! All Hands To Your Battle Stations!_ ”

“...I thought this was supposed to be a quiet border patrol,” Violeta muttered. They were all already at a dead run, Anna peeling off for main engineering. There was nothing else to be done, but run and hope they got to their stations in time. Something, somewhere, had gone wrong and they were under threat.  _So much for a peace..._

_**Undiscovered Frontier: Origins** _

_**Season 1 Episode 4** _

_**“The Border Patrol”** _

**Act 1**

It was unusual for an alert in that Abebech was on the bridge with the Captain, talking urgently. Will was below in secondary control, and Elia was frowning over at her Operations console. Then she looked up. “We’ve gotten the entire message, Captain, Commander.”

Abebech turned toward her, standing close to Zhen’var.

Elia bit her lip. “It’s a valid War Order, Captain. Not a drill. Nothing else.”

The Dilgar woman in the command chair nodded. “To my safe, Commander Imra, to review the IOP?” Her voice was calm and level, but her demi-claws were out and scraping along the stone facings of her armrests.

“Yes, certainly,” Abebech replied, and came to attention, waiting for Zhen’var to pass her heading to the Ready Room. “Commander Saumarez, direct any further communications to the Captain’s Ready Room. We can two-factor there ourselves.”

“Understood, Commander,” Elia answered, rising and stepping toward the centre of the bridge.

Zhen’var strode with urgency in her steps, to her ready room just off the bridge, and the small vault there that held the classified items that could not be trusted to the central computer, as she leaned in for the various scans meant to ensure that it was her, and that she was not under duress.

“I do not wish to contemplate a great deal what would have caused an Alliance War Order to be issued, Imra.”

“This procedure would only be declared for a serious event deep in the core territories of the Alliance,” Abebech replied. She gestured to the replicator as Zhen’var went for the safe. “Anything for you, Captain?”

“My usual. This implies one or more of the core worlds has been attacked, or are under threat.” She swung the heavy door open, and took out a single heavy red binder, laying it down on her desk, flicking to one of the marked dividers.

Abebech came over with the cups and watched her open the binder to the correct page. It was the only piece of paper documentation on the entire ship.

The directive was also plain and simple for their situation:  _Border Forces and Station Ships are to maintain an Active Combat and Patrol Posture to defend Alliance Territorial Integrity until Further Notice._

“I must confess, that was less drastic than I had expected…” She reached to her intra-ship comms array; “Commander Saumarez?  _Assume Wartime Cruising--Readiness Posture Echo._ ”

“Aye, Captain. Schedule dawn General Quarters?” Elia asked promptly, referring to the old tradition in wartime cruising situations which would be applicable at scheduled ship’s ‘dawn’.

“That is correct. We have received War Orders, get us underway for Geisling, earliest possible arrival. Prepare for a meeting of the ship’s staff that can be spared, we need to defend two points at once, possibly more.”

“Understood, Captain. Standing down to Condition Yellow and relaxing to modified ZEBRA, staff meeting in ten minutes in Conference Suite One,” the conference suite immediately below the bridge precisely for these kinds of staff meetings.

Abebech drank her coffee, still standing. “Less than three months after the war with the Reich ended. Less than three months of peace…”

“The Alliance is a grand dream that has many enemies. It seems another has moved against it.” Carefully placing the binder back and re-securing everything, Zhen’var finally took a sip from her chai. “Come on, let us get down to the meeting.”

 

 

 

 

The crew was much more serious as the senior officers were drawn into the meeting than they had been in the heyday of having returned triumphant from A Bao a Qu.

“Good afternoon, everyone.” Zhen’var barely spared a glance around the room, her expression grim. “Details are scarce to non-existent as to why, but command has invoked the Alliance Integrated Operations War Plan. I do not have details to what has occurred, but I must assume a major world has been struck. Our role is to, quote,  _‘maintain an Active Combat and Patrol Posture to defend Alliance Territorial Integrity until Further Notice.’_  Are there any questions?”

“Well, that’s pretty straightforward,” Lar’shan said after a moment. “We really have no idea what’s going on?”

“No,” Abebech answered for the senior staff. “Major, every comm frequency to Portland will be jammed with communications as they coordinate the response. They simply don’t have the time or capacity to devote an entire transmission to a single ship in a low-priority sector. And the most help we can give our commanders at this point is to leave them alone.

Remembering what happened on their shakedown cruise, Will looked at Fera’xero. “Have you been monitoring the holonews broadcasts again? Anything there?”

Stasia rubbed her eyes and reached for her coffee. Her hair was wet, and the damp was starting to soak through her uniform in patches, having been in the middle of taking a shower when they called General Quarters. “They did always say the military usually found out about trouble by watching CNN, back home.”

“Unfortunately, Commander, Chief, there is only one relevant piece of news. The Gersallian Cooperative Information Service is not broadcasting, and neither is the Voice of Liberty. The other news broadcasts report an information lockdown with more news coming soon from Portland. Their feeds are just showing a rainy cityscape in the Capital, nothing more.”

“Gersal, and probably other points, including New Liberty, have been attacked.” Zhen’var stirred from the head of the table. “It is the common factor between the points of information. Higher authorities are trying to coordinate a response. What is relevant for us is  _whom_  did so, and what we can do to assist while  _here_.”

“We only left there three days ago,” Violeta said quietly, stunned. Gersal was  _the_ linchpin of the Alliance.

“If we had been in dock, we may well have been destroyed without a chance to defend ourselves. We were fortunate, but there is nothing else that makes sense. Someone with an intra-universal drive has declared war upon the Alliance.”

“It  _could_ have been internal to that universe, the Coserian Emperor for example,” Anna objected.

“While it may be possible, are any of them that  _suicidal_  to risk it? The Alliance will respond with overwhelming force, the Reich War demonstrated our resolve even when it was not  _our planets_  under attack.”

“It might be another interuniversal power,” Abebech finally said, having hesitated a while. Her tightly pulled back hair leaned over her right shoulder. “I certainly wouldn’t rule it out, Commander Poniatowska.”

Anna sucked in her breath. “Very well. We’ll be to our destination in another,” she checked her omnitool, “forty-three minutes. Any instructions until then, Captain?”

“Pass the word to your Chiefs, let them filter it to the crew. They should know just what is at stake. I shall provide information to the ship data-net as it is received. I do not  _expect_  a combat situation on arrival, but we  _will_  reach our station and prepare to defend it.”

“You heard the Captain,” Elia added. “For further notice we are on Readiness Posture Echo, Wartime cruising, including Dawn General Quarters with ship time synchronised to Portland time. That means we’ll call the next alert at 0628 Zulu--in seven hours and fourteen minutes.”

“You are all dismissed to your stations, thank you.” Zhen’var was silent after giving them their dismissal.

“I’ll be reporting to the  _Heermann_ since she’s on Alert Five,” Abebech offered before heading out.

“And I to the wing; one squadron on Alert Five, one on Alert Ten, the rest at twenty minutes,” Lar’shan added.

The Captain acknowledged their reports, and would sit there until the last left, before rising to her feet to return to the bridge.  _Gersal… Divine, but what comes next?_

Elia had been waiting outside, heading to the same destination. When Zhen’var arrived, she fell in with her. “Not going to try to take a nap, Captain?”

“How could I hope to, Commander, when things are so uncertain? It would be nothing more than staring into the viewscreen in my ready room, running scenarios through my sleepless mind.”

“Some soldiers get that trait, though, the ability to turn in ‘all standing’ or ‘take a caulk’ on the deck, in navy terms,” Elia grinned wryly. “I bet Rick’s one. I’m not, of course.”

“Of  _course_  the Chief is. He always seems  _annoyingly_  bright in the morning, but I admit never having caught him without his coffee.”

“This is a problem I’ve thought of before,” Elia continued, her hands folded behind her back as they rose upwards in the turbolift. “There are so many big foreign powers and we have spread through so many universes. Without it being unusual, we could still find ourselves in war after war after war. What will that do to the Alliance, I wonder?” Her tired dark eyes looked hard into the wall of the turbolift, as if she could see beyond it. Her expression was not negative. She could see the dangers, but she also wanted some of them.

“Force it to reform or break. We will see which, but either way, we will do our  _duty_ , Battle Expert.” Sometimes, her Captain showed flashes of a soul of sharp-edged iron which lurked behind normally calm eyes.

“A little like we’re in the Wars of the French Revolution.” She paused, and grinned wryly. “As the French. Well, then. You know, Captain, with all respect to what I expect your own position is, there are some people out there who need liberating. So --  _Bon Chance, Mon Capitaine?_ ”

Zhen’var bared her teeth when she returned the grin. “ _Oui.”_ Together, side by side, Captain and Commander, Telepath and Dilgar, they strode out onto the bridge of their ship, coiled at Condition Two--Condition Yellow--and straining hard. For all the danger and uncertainty of the hour, it was thrilling.

 

 

 

 

They arrived at Geisling on schedule, dropping out of warp and into orbit. The Attacker squadron was waiting for them, with the fleet interrogatories having already flown back and forth as they approached. Zhen’var was the ranking officer, since the Station Commodore was a Captain of lower seniority. She created a conference link on the main bridge and started issuing directives to the Wing Commanders and Attacker Captains.

“One of the local squadron shall be at General Quarters at all times for further notice,” she ordered. “Maintain a full squadron CAP from each wing, including our’s, for three squadrons active with three early warning runabouts for each. Another three squadrons on Ready Five, and another three on Ready Ten as well as one of our bomber squadrons at each posture as well. All other forces to maintain Condition Yellow until further notice with ships at modified ZEBRA. Wing Commanders, Attacker ForceCom, establish patrol routines as you best see fit.  _Heermann_ may remain at MC Yoke while docked but not more than ten percent of the crew to be allowed on  _Huáscar_ at any time with all sleeping aboard; make sure either yourself or Commander Goodenough is aboard at all times, Commander Imra.”

The acknowledgements chorused. Abebech allowed a tight, grim smile after the others had closed off their lines. “Of course, Captain. Commander Goodenough will have the first watch.”

Then Abebech’s image disappeared, too. “Captain, the Geisling Defence Ministry is contacting us,” Elia informed her. “They seem pretty excited.”

“Rather not surprised to hear that,” Zhen’var shook her head wryly. “On screen.”

A Northern European Caucasian woman with sandy brown hair and sharp features blinked onto the screen. She was a severe looking woman with her hair going to midlength and not done up, and a lean face, who launched straight into the description. “Captain Zhen’var? I’m Anna Roschau, the Defence Minister of Geisling. To summarise what we know about the situation, a War Warning went out, and there are reports of multiple different attacks in different universes… Which has everyone pretty damn worried. We could be attacked at any moment. We’ve already got our old  _Chandley_ -class frigates and  _Genser_ -class escorts on outer patrol, but they’re all seventy years old and can’t do much. The Birds of Prey are still taking on their crews.”

Zhen’var glanced down to her display. They were all non-upgraded, early-model Federation ships of designs that the UFP had completely decommissioned. Clearly they predated the point where anti-military sentiment had led to the Federation completely banning foreign military sales, and the ships had been purchased at a fire-sale, and reality had required them to remain in service since. The eight Klingon Birds of Prey the planetary government also owned were newer, since the Klingons saw humans as allies in the past decade and unlike the UFP didn’t care about proliferation. They were also reserve ships with crews who might as well be a militia, and were still on the ground.

“Please get the Birds of Prey to full readiness as soon as possible, Ma’am,” Zhen’var answered very deliberately. “I agree with your assessment that we have been attacked in multiple universes at once. Can we prepone the coordination meeting scheduled for tomorrow to sometime in the next hour?”

Roschau looked at her for a moment, blinking, and then figured out the meaning of the unfamiliar word. “Isn’t it the middle of the night for you?”

“I’m hardly going to sleep until our defensive arrangements are secure, Ma’am,” Zhen’var answered with a shrug.

“We’ll get the briefings ready,” Roschau answered. “One hour precisely, we can do that.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Zhen’var watched the screen go silent, and then tapped the intercom to the  _Heermann._ “Commander Imra, please come aboard the  _Huáscar_ after all. Elia, Fei’nur and I will be going to the surface for a briefing with the local government and I want you available to take overall command in the event we are taken under attack while I am on the surface. Will shall have the conn, but I want you in overall command of  _Huáscar_ ’s operational assets. You would report to Captain Nansen, of course,” she referred to the Station Commodore.

“Understood, Captain.”

As the bridge for a brief moment went silent, Zhen’var shook her head. In another two days it was going to be her fortieth birthday and all she wanted for it was some kind of  _data_ on the situation.

 

 

 

  


Nah’dur was dealing with several interesting challenges in her spare time. The first of these was to sort out genophage details with Wrex. Well, Wrex could follow along to her status reports, but it wasn’t that he was a collaborator. Rather than try to immediately reverse what the Salarians had done, her first objective had been a simple change to promote regenerative fertility in Krogan females. Most females actually continued to produce new eggs, at least at a very low rate, during adulthood.

Nah’dur took the basic mechanism of propagation of the genophage (which had been nifty even if the rest of the work was slapdash and incompetent in her opinion) and had added a few factors to it which would drive increased regeneration. Since Krogan used a quantity-based reproduction schema  _anyway,_ next she promoted the release of more eggs during fertility events. Step one in overcoming severe attrition, if you don’t have another option, was to bring even more embryos into play. It was, in essence, reproductive materialschlacht.

She’d already designed an artificial womb, essentially, optimized for Krogan embryos which would be able to counter some of the neurochemical stressors which caused the high stillbirth rate and improve outcomes over traditional gestation. It was expensive, but it was a short term help, and there were plenty of Krogan with money, so she shot the design specifications off to Solaris where a company was now offering them to Krogan with enough money to pay, and then sent another copy to Wrex so he could look for cheaper suppliers. Now she just needed to finish the tests on the first round treatment and send it off Wrex. It might increase the successful pregnancy rate by 40%, which wasn’t enough but was close to enough, so it was a start which would staunch the demographic bleeding.

Her hands flew up to her mouth in an instinctive Dilgar gesture to cover her face as she yawned hugely. Broad, blue, feline eyes traced from side to side a bit suspiciously. Nah’dur hated admitting to those outside of her family she got sleepy. Her mother had been impervious to sleep, both of them actually. The number of alerts was getting to everyone, though. She looked down to her cup and frowned. She hadn’t yet found any coffee that she liked, except for one Marine officer who had given her this stuff from her homeland of  _Rhode Island and Providence Plantations_ (humans loved long names) called Coffeemilk. That had been tolerable, but it was served cold, and she wanted something hot. Her latest attempt was no more successful and she gave up drinking it and wandered over to the replicator to get a proper Dilgar stimulant.

As she came back to her workstation, the chime on her office door pealed. Nah’dur blanked the screen to protect the data on the Genophage treatments. “Come in, please.”

The door opened. It was Commander Imra. “Surgeon-Commander, while I was aboard under the Captain’s orders, I decided to get my ninety day physical out of the way.” Like all Alliance officers, she was subjected to endless encouragements to get regular monthly checkups, but Abebech always stuck with the bare minimum ninety-day physical.

“Oh yes, I can do that,” Nah’dur answered. “The programme I’m running shouldn’t finish processing for another thirty minutes or so… Nothing’s changed, I take it?” She added, a bit lamely. Abebech was an enigma wrapped in a mystery cloaked in a riddle for her, or whatever that saying was; she couldn’t remember the order and didn’t really care. What more came to mind was an old Dilgar saying, not some pastiche of a human one, but really old:  _Every Predator also a Prey,_ and sometimes it was very appropriate, as Abebech seemed more of a predator than she was.

“Come on.” She wandered out to one of the bio-beds, regarding Abebech thoughtfully. People from S0T5 could be extremely unusual. Abebech was obviously a geneform, even though unlike most individuals on say Solaris, she looked superficially completely human.

As Abebech had requested, Nah’dur entered overrides that killed all the sensors and recording devices, activated a privacy lock on that sector of sickbay, and reached for a stethoscope. The woman pulled off her outer-coat and then very quietly removed her gloves--her hands were flawless, normal, but pale for Abebech’s natural skin-tone--and then reached up and took off her glasses. Those unsettling red eyes she had were very much the one Solarian geneform feature she did have, but unlike Solarians she hid, rather than flaunted, her difference.

“I don’t know what you did before you found me,” Nah’dur muttered softly. “To be honest, I’m not really sure how you got past the onboarding physical without a lot of questions being asked.”

“In the early days, the Alliance took a lot of people without many questions asked,” Abebech replied, almost as insouciant as Nah’dur usually was. “Satisfied?”

Nah’dur recorded the usual things, like the pulse of twenty beats per minute and the blood pressure of 90 over 60 which should mean that Abebech was unconscious and near death. Then she nodded and reached for the vial for the blood sample. “Just the usual disease screening.”

“Do you really need to again?”

“Absolutely. We have our agreement.”  _I want more samples._ “I’ll gundeck the official results in exchange for regular tracking to make sure you’re actually healthy according to the genemods that you’ve had.”

“Very well, Surgeon-Commander, but I rather think you may just like sampling.”

Nah’dur rolled her neck. “Oh, it’s all in the name of scientific inquiry,” she said as the needle went in. Abebech flinched slightly, though her facial expression was always strange, rather than pained. Once she’d drawn the sample, Nah’dur stepped away.

Abebech put her uniform blouse back on and then her gloves, but left the glasses off as Nah’dur next tested her eyes. As usual she aced the visual acuity in all lighting conditions, and scored better than an Alakin on the audio tests…

“All right, go ahead and get on the treadmill,” Nah’dur said boredly as she recorded everything and checked it against her past physical on Abebech. Abebech pulled her pants off and put on a pair of workout shorts she’d brought and obligingly swung herself over to it, almost amused.

For this one, Nah’dur couldn’t help but watch in pained envy and fascination at the motion of human legs. She envied them so much. They just pumped, and pumped. Abebech didn’t even break a sweat. Nah’dur couldn’t bring herself to actually tell the woman to stop; she just loved the fascinating, wicked biological perfection of a creation which had come about being a predator in an odd way, the oddest of ways perhaps: not ambush, gods no,  _exhaustion_ predation, the one thing which made humans unique rather than the utterly average that they were in almost every other respect. Nah’dur had long already concluded, before contact with the Alliance, even, that the human adaptation for exhaustion predation was the main reason that humans were uniquely dangerous.

Abebech’s heartbeat made sense in the context of a geneform that had been optimized for long distance running. Naturally, Nah’dur loved watching her run. She could, in her mind, strip away the layers of flesh and fat, and imagine the muscles coiling and uncoiling, the tendons and nerves responding, the padding of the joints in the bones transmitting force through the continuous rhythm of impulsive motion…

Nah’dur could run faster than Abebech, for about the first five minutes. She was not in as good of shape as she should be, so she’d time out and collapse soon after that. Abebech could do this for  _hours._ Any properly trained human could, but Nah’dur suspected, based on her current working hypothesis of Abebech’s genetic modifications, that she could do it for twelve or fifteen hours. Running  _continuously_ for that long was incredible.

But Nah’dur knew someone else who could do it for almost as long. In her imagination, Fei’nur’s legs slowly began to substitute for Abebech’s as she was quietly entranced by the rhythm of the running.

The reverie was broken by the legs slowing down. “I do rather believe that’s enough data,” Abebech said with a mildly disapproving tone.

“ _You could run down one of your equines,”_ Nah’dur said, her eyes jerking up.

“How do you think humans tamed them?” Abebech shot back as she wandered over to the exam table and put her uniform pants back on.

“Hmf! I suppose you are quite right. Very well then, you’re fit for duty. Of course. I’ll put the values you asked in the latest report, again.”

“ _Thank you,_ Surgeon-Commander!”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” Nah’dur said, wandering back into her office. She’d compare baselines on Abebech again later, she wanted to see if the simulation had finished…

 

 

 

 

 

Zhen’var, Elia and Fei’nur materialised in the courtyard of the small and tidy Defence Ministry that Geisling maintained. It was adorned with statues celebrating the successful revolt which had driven the Rihannsu off the world, frequently invoking the militaristic style of Old Earth in the 19th century, especially the Romantic period. That was common enough for the history of a world which had been written in blood.

A small honour guard of local troops assembled, and an aide approached. “Captain Zhen’var,  _Huáscar_ officers, I am Major Deborah Kielsen,” she introduced herself, “Aide-de-Camp to the Minister for Defence.”

“Major, a pleasure.” Zhen’var nodded her head sharply in greeting. “Commander Elia Saumarez, my Operations officer, and Colonel Fei’nur, head of my ground and Security forces.”

“A pleasure to meet you all,” she greeted them in turn. “Welcome to Geisling, they call us the Swiss of the Triangle for a reason.” There was a grin on her lips as she turned toward the entry-foyer of the building. Security interfaced with the omnitool of each of the three Alliance officers as they entered--Major Kielsen had an old-style scancard--and prompted a demand for their two-factor passcode for the security chip inside of the omnitool.

Glancing to the other two, Zhen’var tapped hers in, watching her fellow officers do the same, as Fei’nur glanced about in real approval. This was the  _right_  level of security for a colony.

“The Birds of Prey are standing up, they’re on three hours notice, which is enough time to have them up if Romulan Warbirds are detected leaving Romulan space,” she explained as she led through multiple floors and up to the top of the building and the airy conference dome set back from the sides for security. “Another ninety minutes and we’ll have them up.”

“Good timing, for a reserve fleet. I do not  _think_  an attack from that direction is imminent, unless they see an advantage to be seized.”

“The Praetor loves the Main Chance,” Kielsen answered, and then came to attention as she stopped at the bottom of the steps into the conference doom. “Generalleutnant Robert Nader, Vizadmiral Frederick Rieslich.”

Both of them were aging men, but Nader had brown color to his skin--probably Arabic--in contrast with the Admiral who was probably as German as the ranks.

“Captain Zhen’var, welcome. You’re a welcome sight after they pulled our last station ship and then this alert went down,” Rieslich offered. “Please, take some seats, all of you. We’ll have some light refreshments coming up in a moment, too.”

“Thank you, Vizadmiral.” The Dilgar woman glanced about, taking the measure of those around her - this was certainly one of the more  _militaristic_  Alliance members.

“”It’s not a problem,” he answered as the food was brought out, as well as coffee and tea. There was salmon and some chicken kebabs.

“The original colonists were from Bavaria?” Elia asked.

“You know about our namesake village in Regensburg? How brilliant, Commander,” Nader smiled. “Yes, in the majority. They established a reputation for themselves as excellent gem-cutters and jewelers in the early settlement days, carrying on some lost traditions from Earth. It’s said the Romulans spared our ancestors because they could not bear to destroy that which created such beauty. Well,” he chuckled, “we taught them the error of their ways.”

Zhen’var only nodded to that, not sharing the chuckle. Such things tended to make conquerors  _harsher_  if they ever came back. It was her responsibility on station to ensure that did  _not_  happen.

Rieslich brought up a holo-projection. It spent a solid minute wavering as the Major leaned in to run a diagnostic cycle on the projector before it finally settled down.

“Are your’s any more reliable, perchance?” General Nader asked.

“It was a critical element of our recent yard period, shall we say?” The Captain replied with a wry tone to her voice.

“I have this Klingon civilian model in my home and  _that_ always starts right up and works. Of course the resolution is terrible,” Rieslich grumbled. “At any rate. You can see there that we’ve been tracking an uptick in Romulan ship transits inside the Triangle. So we actually  _are_ concerned about opportunism now. We were concerned enough to plan a dedicated briefing on this  _before_ the WARNORD went out.”

“Go ahead with the briefing. We have some reports of possible Tal Shiar activity on Terramka we were planning to investigate - I still intend to do once it is safe to resume our patrol circuit.”

“...Several of the vessel tracks we’ve recorded could actually be heading to or from Terramka, actually,” Rieslich said, now interested. He started to run through the track lists, as well as intelligence estimates of the vessels, mostly older, second-line Romulan ships.

Zhen’var  _frowned_  to that. “Then I shall need to intend to make it the first priority after the war alert is canceled… unless there is a ship I can  _quietly_  send a team upon?”

“We’ve got a few heavily armed and shielded freighters we can use for covert ops,” General Nader replied. “But they’d also be useful enough in a pinch if we came under direct attack. I suppose one of the Peregrines wouldn’t attach much notice, but…”

“I don’t really feel comfortable reducing our defensive strength until we at least have a communique from Portland,” Rieslich agreed.

Major Kielsen had stepped over to a terminal, and now she turned back to face the table. “Sirs, the answers to our concerns may be at hand. We’re receiving a priority broadcast from Portland.”

“Finally,” Nader sighed, reaching for his coffee. “Put it on, Major.”

Zhen’var took her tea with an rigid grip, expression going flat. This was not likely to bode  _well_.

The image resolved into a woman in an Admiral’s uniform who looked tired. Zhen’var recognised her, Admiral Dana Envers, COMNAVRESFOR. The fact that the commander of the Reserve Force had had some of the briefing duties parceled out to her showed how serious the situation was. In retrospect it made sense, though, since she was probably briefing like fifty planetary defence force commands simultaneously.

“Gentlebeings, this is Admiral Envers acting for the National Militaries Liason. Approximately two hours ago a major Cylon force attacked Gersal with total surprise. The first indications suggest it was a ‘signature’ terrorist attack aimed at the Great Temple of the Order, though substantial damage was also done to orbital infrastructure and casualties in the Gersallian and Alliance military forces were taken.”

“Simultaneously, a large force of SS starships attacked New Liberty with overwhelming strength. They destroyed the defending vessels and conducted a terror bombardment and several raids against what we believe are intelligence assets. They then retreated using interuniversal drive. The intelligence conclusion is unmistakable: The destruction of the throne-world of the SS was just cover for a retreat to secret installations at which they perfected test copies of the IU Drive we recovered from  _Welthauptstadt Germania,_ corrected the observed deficiencies, and now have begun a terrorist campaign using their remaining fleet, which may number in the hundreds of ships.”

“The timing of the two events is not a coincidence. It is possible the Cylons skipped into another universe and then returned to launch their attack on Gersal, since little else would explain their ability to bypass the Gersallian outer frontier sensor networks. It is clear that both attacks were precisely coordinated, and in combination with strong circumstantial evidence from the Battle of  _Welthauptstadt Germania,_ it is clear that the Cylons and the Schutzstaeffel are operating in Alliance with each other to pursue common aims against our government.”

“At this time, every planetary defence force in the Alliance needs to be ready and on alert for surprise attacks by overwhelming concentration of SS and-or Cylon starships, and we may expect the attacks to cease only when logistics force them to stop for refuel and resupply. Whether they have already exhausted those stores or if they could make another twenty attacks is unknown. We are reactivating major reserve fleet elements and sending them as reserve fleets to all major member worlds in the anticipation of creating rapid response fleets which can minimise the damage and catch them. This defensive strategy will persist until analysis of their attack patterns gives us evidence of the universe they are presently operating from, at which point we will bring together scratch assault fleets from those same rapid response forces to destroy their infrastructure and force a halt to attacks. That is all. God Preserve the Alliance.”

The message blinked out. The declaration of overt religiosity at the end showed the level of tension in the ranking elements of the government. Admiral Rieslich looked at his Army counterpart and then sank back quietly into his chair, saying nothing for a moment.

Zhen’var quietly took out her communicator and spoke in a completely flat tone. “ _Grau_  to  _Ray-Ban_. Priority Override.  _Ray-Ban_ , alert as follows: Hostile IU-drive equipped raiding forces of Cylon and Schutzstaffel vessels  _operating freely and in in overwhelming localized strength within Alliance space and conducting surprise attacks on a planetary scale_. Gersal  _and_  New Liberty badly struck in precision attacks. Set REDCON accordingly. Let the crew know in a controlled manner.”

“Grau, I confirm the situation and am taking measures,” Abebech’s voice echoed back, completely confident. “Complete your coordination preparations. We are standing-to appropriate readiness.”

“Thank you. Grau, out.” Zhen’var looked up again with that same expression of steel in her eyes, as the Marine Colonel barely hid how tense she was, and how uncomfortable how  _she_  was to be on a planet after that alert. “It seems we face a larger challenge than we expected, and will need to fulfill our station-ship duties with what-ever is left after defending  _this_  world. As an outpost in an isolated universe, we  _are_  a tempting target - Commander Saumarez, your views?”

“We’d be outnumbered ten to one even with every ship on hand, in the worst case, from the local forces and our own naval detachment,” Elia answered. “I think we need to investigate the Rihannsu manoeuvres in the Triangle despite this threat. Is there any way we can reinforce the local defences?”

“We have some reasonably good relations with nearby Klingon houses, we could ask for House ships to help defend us,” Admiral Rieslich said. “They would expect a favour from the Alliance or from Geisling later on, of course, but many of them were angry at being pulled off the line with the Reich when relations between the Empire and the Alliance went south with Gowron’s adventuring against the Cardassians, so we might be able to lean on that.”

“We will not be getting reinforcements, Admiral. We are all you can expect from the Fleet.”  _The Alliance was lucky with the Reich. This will expose the inability of the Alliance to defend itself against IU-equipped enemies. One cannot be strong everywhere._

“We need to go talk to the President, then. I’ll get back to you about your Romulan-hunting mission when we have an answer on whether or not we’re going to ask for Klingon help--and whether or not we’re going to get it.”

“I would return to  _Huascar_ , then, and see if we can leverage our assets to assist in your defenses.” Zhen’var itched to be back on her ship, not here _,_ away from her command, when there was such a looming threat over them all.

“Very well then, there’s no need to keep you here while we attempt the diplomatic arrangements. Captain, you are dismissed,” Vizadmiral Reislich said simply, and rose. “We will all be very busy and hopefully that is all it will come to.”

“Thank you, Admiral.  _Grau_  to  _White_ , stand-by for three to beam up.”

 


	2. Act 2

**Act 2**

 

Over the next several days the situation calmed, somewhat. There were no further attacks, and other elements of the Alliance Navy were in hot pursuit of the SS raiders. The high level of alert continued, but they had to remain at Condition Yellow with the practical reality of having to avoid the crew simply collapsing in exhaustion. With movement in the ship hindered by maintaining modified ZEBRA, extensive travel through her decks still remained an adventure.

Nah’dur still found a way to get up to Zhen’var’s cabin during a time when they were both off duty. The Captain’s younger stepsister was politely put together, but still seemed brimming with her usual frenetic energy. 

“Nah’dur?” Zhen’var was blinking in confusion as she opened the door to her quarters, gesturing in. “Please, come in. What brings you here? Anything I can get you?”

“Some  _ Ytar,  _ please,” she said, naming a broth tisane and smiling as she stepped into Zhen’var’s Captain’s quarters. “Thank you, Elder Sister,” she added, formal but not addressing her as a Captain. 

“Well, sit down.” She brought Nah’dur the mug and moved to flop down in her own small sitting area, shuffling some datapads on the small table there into a neater pile. “What is it?” She was trying to think what would bring the Surgeon-Commander here - the journey at modified-ZEBRA was not easy from Main Sickbay.

“I wanted to ask how you’re doing, Zhen. This has been a very stressful time for the entire crew,” Nah’dur answered, taking the mug gratefully. 

“As I tell Va’tor every week, as well as can be expected.” There was a hint of wary stress in that voice--Zhen’var was on a notably more frequent schedule of visits than most of the other members of the crew, for several reasons.

“That means you clearly need your sister,” Nah’dur answered, leaning in with her button-nose gently twitching. “Have you created that dating profile yet?”

“Of  _ course not _ , when would I have had time for something as frivolous as that?” The Captain gestured to the pile of reports on her desk even now.  _ Quite the birthday celebration, isn’t it? Paperwork and war alerts. _

“Possibly your birthday?” She nudged at Zhen’var. “As good a thing to do as any, now. It won’t take long.” 

“ _ Nah _ , I have  _ reports _ to write.” There was a nearly wheedling tone to it, as she gestured to a wall chrono. “My birthday is over in two hours anyhow, this can wait, it has waited this long already, has it not?”

“No, it can’t. I want to see your cute girlfriend and then watch as you get mated! It will certainly happen soon if you have a dating profile. I know you’re very serious about commitment,” Nah’dur answered insistently. “Come on, you’re a  _ prize  _ for any Dilgar woman so inclined. There are not many active duty Dilgar warship Battlemasters. The social prestige is immense.”

“When would I have time even to  _ date _ anyone, Nah? That would require leave back  _ home _ , and that shows no signs of happening during this commission. I am a  _ Captain _ now, it is not as if I am a young Combat Expert anymore.” Still, her refusals were growing less vehement, and more tired.

“Oh, come now. You could have an on-line relationship over the Extranet. And then when you finally meet it will be so sweet and romantic.” 

“As if I even have time for…” Zhen’var sighed. “Stop looking at me like that.  _ Fine _ , but I am  _ making _ you help. I barely  _ use _ the Extranet.”

“Brilliant!” She drank heavily from her mug and grinned. “Let’s get started. Of course I’m going to help. I love helping you, Zhen.”

“I am sure… now, how does this work…?”

Nah’dur leaned over the computer with her and brought up the extranet site. The Dilgar extranet was on the extreme corner of the system, and was still a reality of low-bandwidth, low-power technology to avoid detection; it had a charming clunkiness that someone who had grown up with the Earth 90s internet might appreciate. The result was a page with a simple search-box and rows of dating profiles in neat Dilgar script, under the banner (also in Dilgar script) of  _ Union Female-Female Romance Services, By Women For Women.  _ Each one was plain-text with a single picture and the search terms corresponded with some standardized entry boxes in the list. 

“Divine, but this feels like a history lesson… I think one of the pictures Fei’nur took on Gersal will do best. What are these other fields…?”

“Interests, age, height, blood-type, you know, those sorts of things that other women might sort and search by! I’ve met a bunch of girlfriends on here--there’s nothing sweeter than a picnic at the top of a Mesa when you’re healthy on Rohric, and it comes rarely I know, but when you feel good enough to climb, it is a lovely world to share with someone. And Fei’nur took some pictures on Gersal? Yes, those will do! Here, you go to the upper righthand corner to create your own new profile. You should create a profile name for it.”

“A profile name? What is wrong with  _ my _ name…?” Zhen’var blinked slowly, starting to become slightly worried at how  _ enthusiastic _ her little sister was being.

“Well, nobody uses their real name at first. I think it’s a legacy of when this was all hush-hush in the Old Imperium Days--remember, this would have all been underground then. Usually they get exchanged when you meet in person or after a few rounds of conversation in a private message, you know, that sort of thing.”

“I am supposed to use a  _ fake name _ on a  _ dating site _ ? Nah, this is… I have never done anything  _ like  _ this. Divine, I have not  _ dated _ in  _ years! _ ”

“Well, that’s why you need to use it. So we can fix that.” She wrapped an arm around her sister’s shoulders. “Come on. You deserve to be happy like everyone else.”

“I… all right.” She still looked skeptical, as gloved hands reached out to start typing.

“Can I look through the pictures of you and Fei’nur from Gersal to find the best one?” Nah’dur asked politely as she let Zhen’var type. 

Distracted, the elder woman waved. “Very well, they are on my personal datapad, go ahead.”

Nah’dur was soon eagerly flipping through the pictures. All of them. When she saw Zhen’var was close to finishing, she glanced up. “Hmm. None of these pictures really, you know, show off the real you as well as they could.”

“The ‘real me’...? What are you talking about  _ now _ ? I was relaxed when Fei’nur took those, I thought they came out rather well, too.”

“Well, you know, you want to show that you’re a physically fit Dilgar female, and that … Those pictures are in a lot of clothes, Zhen. Perhaps you have one wearing exercise gear instead?” 

Sister or not, Zhen’var gave Nah’dur a  _ glare _ . “You want a picture of me in  _ less clothing _ for this profile? I do  _ not _ have candid photographs of myself working out!”

“Why not? I mean, you want to show them your muscles…”

“Why? It should be the profile that attracts them, not the picture! Look, I am certain that no-one  _ else _ chose risque shots for their profile!”

Nah'dur immediately looked a little hurt.

“Oh  _ Gods _ ,  **you** did.”

“....I get lots of hookups!”

“You  _ are my little sister _ !”

“And that matters  _ how?  _ mother-Shai has always been supportive. Hmmf.”

“Kasme, you are so jungli sometimes!”

Nah’dur blanched and she had the decency to look embarrassed, the combination of her mother’s stories and the universal translator conveying  _ everything necessary.  _ “Sorry, sister. You’re right,” she finally allowed. “I suppose for the conservative serious religious type your going for your vacation pictures are perfectly fine. You’ll probably end up mating a Priestess or something and that will actually make you really happy and all of those other bourgeoisie contentment things. That is the human term, right?”

“Oh, come off it, Bollywood may be unrealistic, but it is not as if I am not  _ open-minded _ , Nah.” The Captain  _ still  _ looked flustered.

“Well, yes, but what do you waaant?” She trailed the word out with a roll of her tongue with a kind of cute growling noise, leaning against her sister as she watched her finish filling out the dating profile. 

“Someone… I can be comfortable with, who is polite, who  _ respects _ me… I am not being too demanding, am I? The other things you mentioned would be… nice.”

“No, I don’t think you are asking for too much. Of course, there’s different kinds of politeness when your neck is the one being bitten than when you’re doing the biting, but you’ll learn that intimately with a good lover.. And it’s not really my job to educate you on that as my sister.” She nodded firmly and made an expression recognisable in Dilgar as  _ yucky,  _ more or less. “Namely I’m not an Islander,” uncritically referencing a popular stereotype that one of the few Prime Dilgar ethnic minority groups identifiable as such were obsessed with incest. 

“Be nice, Nah, their traditions were held  _ tightly _ through the Imperium, and they are true and authentic. Now that we are finished, you should get back to your quarters. It is getting very late, and we have dawn quarters coming up.”

“I’m also very hungry, and I’m certain you are as well…” Nah’dur tugged at Zhen’var. “Come on, we’ll go down to the Varna Café and get you something nice.” 

“I have the replicator, it will be fine… you are not going to let me say no, are you?” The elder sister sighed audibly and stood. “All right. Let us get very familiar with bypass passages.”

“Brilliant.” She cheerfully led her Captain down through them, her eyes far too bright for the hour as she swung herself nimbly through hatch-combings and scrambled down ladders with a comfortable aplomb. “You should see Ca’elia do this, she can take it all at a  _ blind run,  _ Captain,” she reverted to formality in public for the sake of discipline. 

“She impressed Fei’nur on the holodeck obstacle run training course, I recall.” Zhen’var replied, swinging along after. “I am quicker in zero-gravity, blame muscle memory for that.”

“I’m envious of that. I wish I’d grown up in space.” She sighed. “Of course, it’s not hard to want to grow up somewhere other than Rohric, despite how beautiful the planet is, and how interesting the ecosystem is.” 

“That is a feeling everyone who has  _ visited _ Rohric agrees with.” Reflexively, Zhen’var rubbed at her throat, remembering the agony even a short visit had left her in.

“I worry if I don’t solve the spores in another few years the planet will end up deserted,” Nah’dur sighed. Then she smiled as they arrived at Café Varna, and waiting before them… Was a little party at a table.

Elia, Ca’elia, Aur’ma, Fei’nur, and… Abebech.

The last made Zhen’var  _ stare _ . Well, Ca’elia and Aur’ma were surprising too, but…  _ Abebech? _ “... Imra…?”

“You can call me by my first name if you want to, Captain,” Abebech answered, and smiled faintly. “Happy Birthday, is how I believe they said it? I mean, perhaps it’s just an excuse for more Karvavitsa, but I really do think …”

Elia was laughing. “Happy birthday, Zhen’var.”

“Mother sends her regards to Ka’var’s kit,” Ca’elia added, daringly and chipper. 

“You… are actually celebrating  _ my _ birthday…” She sniffled and turned her head away with a violent motion. “Elia, I would have expected  _ you _ if we were not on alert, and you, Nah’dur, but… the rest of you?”

“Well, Corps Birthday is best enjoyed with company, so why not your birthday as well?” Elia asked.

Fei'nur looked a bit sheepish. “Captain, of course I wouldn't miss it. You are my friend. Do you know the first time I visited a planet for pleasure? It was in fact with you at Gersal…”

“Thank you, Fei’nur… you are not escaping a rib roast on  _ your _ birthday now, I hope you know.” She turned back, tears glittering in her eyes. “You…  _ thank you, _ all of you.”

As she sat with her friends, a message popped up on her omnitool.  _ Everything is kinda crazy on the  _ Eendracht  _ right now but Happy Birthday Zhen'var. Sharon. _

Still wiping away tears, she tapped back.  _ Here too. Thank you, Sharon. Thank you more than I can dare say. _

  
  
  
  
  


When she got back to her quarters, a little glowing light indicated that she had another request to connect. 

Glancing at the chrono, Zhen’var let out a soft little groan of tiredness before she tapped ‘accept’, after adjusting her jacket and straightening her hair.

“Oh, there’s no need to do that, it’s just Appe,” Kaveri was in her Dilgar duty uniform, sitting at her own desk, and used the comfortably familiar Tulu word for Mother, that unique and very matriarchal language which had reversed the root words for mother and father, alone among the Dravidian tongues. “Though I wouldn’t think in any eternities to stop you from being dignified, my daughter.”

Her face broke into an honest smile. “Mother! You called, I thought you would be far too busy with the re-mobilization! I… am glad to see you. I just got back, Nah’dur forced me to go to a surprise party in our ship’s cafe.”

“...Nah’dur is, I see, living up to her reputation in a good way. Wonderful.” A smile matched her daughter’s. “And, actually, we hadn’t gotten back to Rohric for the decommissioning ceremony yet, so  _ Wrath  _ is currently on a speed run to reinforce the garrison fleet over Germania even though I think the likelihood of a Nazi attempt on regaining their capital is very small.”

“Always the effort to secure what will never be attacked, when the frontier is far more vulnerable… she also... “ Zhen’var paused. “... Forced me to try to start dating again.” It came out in something of a quiet exhalation, rushed and jumbled together, unlike her usual poise.

“Are you comfortable with that? You’re not the kind of woman to let yourself be  _ forced, _ ” Kaveri answered, a thoughtful frown crossing her face. “You’ve never stopped being assertive, even when you were in that ashram recovering from the Line. So I hardly think this is Nah’dur being an impertinent little sister. Well. She’s being an impertinent little sister, but not in that way. In general.”

“I needed a push. You  _ know _ it has not gone well for me before, mother.” Regret suffused her tone - it had not gone well,  _ nor _ happened often in the past.

“I know. At a time when you should have been a bold young officer, you instead bore the terrible weight of that desperate fight to save our homeworld. Zhen, for so long you have had to neglect yourself out of duty. Don’t subsume that duty into a part of who you are. Don’t assume that just because it commanded you then, means that you are unfit because of the past. You’re one of the most loving people I know, actually.”

“We will see, mother. This is a truly  _ inauspicious  _ time to attempt any such beginning, but I have… still tried. If there is a response…”

“Do give her time, whomever she is, Zhen. I  _ suspect  _ from what your sisters have said you are focused on other Dilgar women, and the mass emergency mobilisation probably captures most of the sorts you’d fancy.”

“You and Nah’dur both seem to think so.” She shook her head with a small sigh. “ _ Thank you _ for calling, Mother.”

“Now you need to get to bed, I suspect, from your shipboard time. But first: Happy Birthday, Zhen. You have your White Ship, and I pray her many successes. As for me,” a wry grin, “I have discovered perhaps the second thing I love in all the Imperium to Shai’jhur: When you execute a stop-loss for the entire crew of a ship, you only sign one form instead of one per crewer.”

Zhen’var’s laugh bubbled over. “The Alliance is not nearly so simple, mother! I feel a great jealousy now!”

“You say that, but I was recently tasked with serving on a committee reviewing the Articles of War for provisions in violation of Alliance law. You can quite well imagine how that is going, Zhen.” She was laughing too, though.

“Next time we meet, I will need to compare notes. I do not think I need to say more, do I?”

“Certainly not. I love you, Zhen. Stay safe and strike hard.  _ Namaste,  _ Zhen.”

Placing her hands palm to palm before her, Zhen’var bowed to her mother. “ _ Namaste _ , Mother.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Captains didn’t get to sleep in, so the birthday party inevitably meant a little less sleep than might have been optimal before the pealing of Dawn General Quarters work them all up onboard the  _ Huáscar.  _ After Zhen’var took the conn and conducted a short battle-drill with the orbital naval and militia squadrons, she replicated herself breakfast in her ready room ( _ Poi  _ bread with chorizo, since Goa was the only place she could think of that had meat with breakfast). Granted, these days she just had one piece of  _ Poi  _ and the rest of the meal was chorizo and sauce, but that was part of the gastronomic reality of being Dilgar. It tasted good.

Then the paperwork started, as ever. It was a quick way to pass the time, until a chime on the door reminded her that her Chief of the Boat was waiting for their thrice-weekly enlisted personnel status meeting. 

“Chief Dugan, come in!” She called out from her desk, looking up with a smile on her face. She always would have a soft spot for the mustachioed Chief after the first  _ Huascar _ .

“Captain,” he came to attention and moved to sit. “Might as well be on the love boat,” he remarked about the lack of saluting. “Ma’am. So, the BLUF is that the situation is definitely impacting morale. Not readiness, yet, but definitely morale. Everyone thought the war was over, and it turns out they thought wrong.”

“Hope taken away after being given is the worst, and our op-tempo has increased far above what was expected when we were dispatched. Consumables will be somewhat stressed, but we should manage, by my projections. I cannot spare shore leave, Chief, anything we do for morale will need to minimize impacts to readiness.”

“...Yeah, I get that, Captain.” He grinned. “So how about a steel beach party, Ma’am?”

“Chief, should I be concerned that the mental image of a grill full of poultry is making me ravenously hungry when you suggest that? I think that means the Dilgar half of the crew is going to like the idea, once it is explained to them, do you not?”

“I remain absolutely convinced the best way to improve Dilgar-Human relations is with a bunch of barbeques,” Chief Dugan deadpanned. “The Marines can fill their largest size of HESCOs with water to create some mini-pools, too. The ones the Alliance uses are waterproof plastic.”

“ _ That _ will go over less well, I am certain… still. You have permission to draw from the recreation fund if there is anything you need from the planet and plan a proper steel beach party -  _ two drink limit _ , and I expect that to be  _ strictly  _ enforced, Chief.

His expression tightened. “Oh, you betcha, ma’am. And I mean it, too. If we let anyone have even a drop out of a third can, we’d get our ass canned by a squadron of Nazi cruisers fifteen minutes later. I know how the universe works. Every single one of ‘em so far, in fact.”

“Is there anything else, Chief? That was good thinking, something to take minds off the shock will go over well, I hope.”

“I heard about the operation you’re going to let Lieutenant tr'Rllaillieu undertake. You should keep it quiet from the crew, Ma’am. I understand the logic in it but a lot of people will think it’s a shore leave lark with a shuttle in the middle of a major alert if they hear snippets without any context. Definitely want the right people along to make it look serious and keep the El-Tee out of trouble.”

“I agree. If he asks Colonel Fei’nur, I am going to let her go, and  _ she _ is capable of making  _ anything _ look serious. I  _ am _ concerned about covert erosion of our influence in the Triangle, a single ship is badly overmatched by the variety of responsibilities the Alliance faces here.”

“Yeah, news of this is going to break fast, and I’m sure when it does, every damn pirate and slaver in this joint is going to figure they’re back in business. Awh heck, ma’am, they probably all already know more than we do.”

“Commander Imra is going to be Captain Imra rather often, I think. We will be spreading ourselves as thin as we dare as  _ soon _ as the threat of major raiders is reduced. If we adopt a bunker mentality, we lose everything but this one system.”

“My opinion’s worth about a penny about strategy, Captain, but if all we’ve got are attackers and a cruiser we might as well keep our cruiser as the battleship and send out attacker patrols. My deck crews can support them rotationally.”

“Point taken, Chief, if we can sustain that operations-tempo, that is what we will have to do until relieved.”

“We’ll manage that, as long as the crew doesn’t go stir crazy, Ma’am. So I’ll start putting the shindig together.” A pause, and he picked up his flimsy and then put it down. again “Now… Do you want the good news first, or the number of Dilgar sailors caught with hooch?”

Zhen’var let out a  _ long _ sigh. “Let us start with the good news, I already  _ know _ how depressingly high the second will be…”

  
  
  
  
  


The Local Defence Force had their own plan, and as it turned out, it wasn’t hot water at all. The next day, forty-two Klingon Birds of Prey, all older marks but serviceable, and a positively elderly (but refitted several times) D-7, arrived in orbit, to the usual alert when first detected. From the Condition Yellow that they were holding, the ship reached Condition Red in a well-drilled two minutes and forty-six seconds from when Will had called the alarm.  _ That  _ was satisfying, at least. 

These were, of course, the legendary Klingon House forces, and ‘legendary’ was not necessarily a compliment. They were not controlled by the central government and so were wildly unpredictable and of course had provided various houses over the years plenty of military strength for such activities as civil wars. They had once been tightly controlled, a hundred years ago, but Praxis and Khitomer had finished that off as the Klingon government slowly collapsed into fundamentalism and factionalism. The Empire was not what it used to be, even if it had an outwardly strong face. 

Their presence was still both welcome and useful. They would know how to fight and their sheer numbers would help give the edge against a powerful Reich squadron operating against the planet from the surprise of interuniversal drives. 

Zhen’var arrived on the bridge, rubbing her eyes. “Good job with the alert timing, Will. Elia has secondary?” 

“Yes. It’s a good experience for her when we call on the third watch so I start from the bridge. And I didn’t do anything to get her buttoned up this fast, that was all the section heads and NCOs.” 

“True.” She grinned a little. “So, let’s see our Klingons…”

“About exactly what we expected,” Will said as he turned toward the screen. “Eighty year old veterans of a dozen fights, filled with warriors spoiling for a thirteenth.”

“Quite.” Zhen’var watched the old D-7 swing toward them and line up right ahead. 

“The Klingons are hailing, Captain.” An Ensign Carter was in the rotation for comms at that hour.

“That is to be expected. On-screen, Ensign.”

The grim darkness of a Klingon bridge, set up more like a temple to the commander, an old bardic hall, than something that had been designed to optimise the operational art, certainly caught the eye. The shaggy, snaggle-toothed grimness of the Klingons matched their surroundings. 

“Greetings, Alliance Starship. We have arrived at the request of the local government. I am Commander Krodak of the House of Ghu’prlal. We will  _ assist  _ you in your hour of need at the request of our  _ friends. _ ” He smirked. “Still, I mean no disrespect. I have studied the history of your ship, and though young, it bears an honourable story. Such a name!”

Zhen’var thought she had a fairly good idea of how to deal with this. “Indeed it is, Commander Krodak. And so I am inviting you and the senior officers of the House of Ghu’prlal to dinner tonight, where you can see the paintings in the officer’s mess.” 

“I … Accept,” he saluted. “We will dine with you, Captain. In eight hours, send the beaming coordinates.” The screen blinked off. 

“Well, Captain, we just got ourselves in for one hell of a dinner party.” 

“So we have. Dinner should fit the Klingon palate, but  _ not _ make my officers ill. The only one of us allowed to indulge in blood-wine is going to be Fei’nur… let us be about it, Commander.”

“I’ll volunteer to take the lead for organising it,” Will replied, shaking his head. “Gods, I must be some kind of moron.”

“But a moron who is a  _ valued member of the command team. _ ” Zhen’var grinned as comfortingly as she could.

  
  
  
  
  
  


By midday, Violeta was off shift and staring at a beer mug in Café Varna. Alexandra’s brusque approach to customer service was already becoming legendary on the ship. The woman brought her Gyuvech with a customary clatter of plates. Violeta smiled wryly. Hot and spicy soup was certainly called for.

“Here, eat food.” 

“Thank you, Alexandra,” Violeta answered. The words got no reply as the woman, harried as ever, hastened on to the next table. With no shore leave, the crew’s only recourse for hanging out informally was Café Varna, and it was packed. 

Violeta took out her datapad and finally forced herself to hit enter on the message she’d been mulling.  _ Commander Saumarez, this is Lieutenant Arteria. Do you know if the final loss reports from New Liberty are in yet?  _

Quietly gnawing on her since the day the report had come down from the Captain on  _ what  _ the alerts were about, the reality was that the brief, brusque statement that New Liberty’s defending forces had been destroyed meant that it was entirely possible Caterina Delgado was dead. The guilt had been gnawing at her since. Survivor’s guilt, not like it was unheard of or uncommon for someone getting a transfer and then their old ship buying it a few weeks or months later with heavy loss of life. It had happened to Daria when she’d transferred to the  _ Aurora.  _

She ate her soup and looked at the screen. It was delicious soup. The world seemed to have a certain lack of colour in it from her emotions, though. Fear and anxiety caused that. 

_ No, Lieutenant,  _ the message back flashed up on her screen,  _ however, I could just try to raise the  _ Aurora  _ on fleet comms now. The traffic has died down to the point that we can do low-priority bandwidth again, within the past few hours. _

Violeta’s eyes widened with a hint of momentary hope.  _ Please! _

_ No problem,  _ Elia tapped back. 

It became very hard to eat her soup as she waited for the reply back, or even nurse her beer. 

And then the datapad chimed.  _ I’ve got a line.  _

A moment passed, then another, as if the other side was preoccupied, or may not connect after all.  Finally Cat's voice came over the line. " _ Hi Vee _ ."  There was no mistaking the anguish or exhaustion on the other end.

“... _ Oh Cat!  _ We heard the entire squadron at New Liberty had bought it. You’re all right. You’re all right!” She nearly knocked her beer over. “And the  _ Aurora  _ is too since that’s how Commander Saumarez raised you.”

" _ Yeah.  The ship survived.  But… _ "  It was clear Cat was trying to figure out how to say what was on her mind.  " _ She's gone, Vee.  Julia's gone. We… we think they might have taken her. _ _ I didn't find any definitive sign of vaporization and… _ "

“Oh no…” Violeta shivered. She had seen the emaciated survivors of the camps, even those who had been in them for just a few months having been captured during the war had suffered horrifyingly. The prospect that Captain Andreys was  _ dead,  _ though… She quietly had another drink of her beer, she drank beer so rarely preferring wine, but there she was. “Maybe she’ll be rescued when we nail their base. We can hope for that, right?”  _ Right? … _

" _ Robert and Lucy are off looking for clues.  Somewhere in N2S7. I hope we find her. Or at least know what happened to her.  I… I just don't know how things are going to go. I mean, we went through all of that fighting over Germania to stop this, and… it's like it's for nothing.  We failed. And a lot of people on New Liberty died. _ "

“You didn’t fail, Cat. We didn’t fail. If the Nazis had finished the drive when they still controlled their Reich and capital, they would have  _ occupied  _ New Liberty, they would have  _ scoured  _ Gersal, there’d be  _ billions  _ dead, not millions. You saved billions of lives. The Alliance will overcome this. I know we will.”

Silence followed, broken by a sniffle.  " _ My head says you're right.  It's just… all of the bodies, and the shooting… it was horrible.  And if the Quarians hadn't shown up when they did… _ _ Sorry, I'm sure you've been worried a lot about us.  Here I am, being all woe-is-me on you. You made it away from Gersal before the attack, right? _ "

“...Yes, we were three days out, bound for the Triangle in S3T5. We’re on patrol here. The only Alliance ship bigger than an Attacker in the entire region. The next closest is on the other side of the Cardassian frontier, a week away at high warp. Captain’s pretty nervous about it all. She’s been calling Condition Red at shipboard dawn every day whether or not there’s a threat to keep everyone on their toes.”

" _ That's really… I guess she's afraid the SS will show up like they did here.  Out of nowhere, almost no warning. We got a little lucky from Angel's friend warning her about something being up, it led us to the warehouse they smuggled their sabotage teams through.  And their jump beacon. It's the only reason we had warning to raise shields _ ."

“Yeah. We’ve had shields up continuously for past three days now. Just two beam-down cycles for the Captain to meet the local defence forces and then return. And  _ Heermann  _ has been undocked the entire time. But we haven’t fought anyone, so we’re pretty lucky. It’s just a lot of waiting and being cooped up and not knowing what’s going on.”

" _ We're still repairing battle damage here.  The ship took some casualties, we lost warp drive and several systems.  Scotty and Tom have been working almost non-stop it seems. The Quarians are helping where they can, but there's a lot of debris to clear.  Would you mind giving Fera'Xero a hug for me? I mean, I know he wasn't here, but the Quarians arrived just in time to save us. I'd be dead if they hadn't shown up when they did. _ "

“I totally will. We owe him a lot already for what happened at A Bao a Qu.”

" _ I heard something about you being involved in some kind of big battle.  Did they really fly through space in big space mechs? Like the ones in F1S1? _ "

“Oh you better believe it... “ 

  
  
  
  
  


Late that afternoon, before the final set-up for the Klingons to arrive, Arterus arrived at the Captain’s Ready Room. “Captain, permission to enter?”

“Good afternoon, Lieutenant. Please, sit.” Zhen’var put down a tablet and leaned back in her chair, expression calm. “To what matter of business do I owe this meeting?”

“I have received a letter from my sister,” he answered, and thrust over a hardcopy in the Rihannsu tongue. “It confirms she is being watched. Is there any way at all I may still go?” He looked both tense and reserved. He was a Rihannsu, and well understood duty.

“Yes, actually. You are not to speak of the matter further, due to the current situation. Who do you want for your team? The Triangle is unsettled enough that I am deeming the matter to be one of Alliance security. The Tal Shiar are  _ not _ friendly to our interests.”

“I’d been recommended to ask Fei’nur, but the alerts have prevented me from doing so to date. Lieutenant Seldayiv as well?”

“I see no reason not to add her if you expect possible conflict. As a growth experience, I want you to put together an outline for the proposed team and a mission brief. I will review it.” She reached for her omnipresent teacup. “Work quickly, Lieutenant, I do not want you to arrive too late.”

“I understand perfectly, Captain. With your leave we will depart tonight after the dinner with the Klingons.” He rose. “Thank you. I believe you will like my cousin very much.” 

“One might hope so. Do not, as an aside, speak of the mission generally. It would come off wrongly to the crew. Dismissed, Lieutenant.”

“ _ Khre’Riov _ ! Understood. I stand dismissed.” He smiled as he came to attention, and then departed. 

  
  
  
  
  


Arterus went immediately to meet with Colonel Fei’nur, starting to compose the outline for the proposed team and summary of the mission brief as he walked. Arterus deeply respected the woman, who his Dilgar comrades on the ship universally held to be an exemplar of honour, loyalty, professional acumen and competence. Everything he had seen only reinforced the view. To a Rihannsu, someone who rose from the ranks with no great family name was dangerous, legendary, or both. Fei’nur certainly was.

The woman in question was currently fighting the bane of her existence; Alliance paperwork, in the office she still marveled at actually ever having  _ gotten _ . “Lieutenant.” She looked up with a querying look on her face, standing to her full height. “I do not recall you coming down to the Marine areas before.”

“Colonel, it’s so, but we have a situation and a mission that I would like to discuss with you,” he answered, drawing him up to attention, even as he shot his very brief, several-sentence preliminary drafts over to Fei’nur’s account. 

The veteran officer glanced down at the notifications, frowning slightly, then her expression relaxed. “The Captain told me I should be on alert for a detached operation. This is why, then... Is there any further information on the situation, or what resources will be available?”

“We have the reports from the surface of unusual activity of the Praetorian government’s ships,” Arterus said the name he and his cousin used, bluntly denying them the title of Rihannsu, “in the Triangle, and a letter was delivered recently from my cousin confirming that she believes that she has been found out and is being watched. Of course, if it was a personal matter, I would not ask for this help… But we both know that when one is the heir to a throne, everything takes on a political dimension as well, and the Captain directed me to act on regular duty orders.” 

“Then the understanding is that we are to move in covertly, with the ability to move to overt operation if necessary… we will need an intelligence ship, or the closest we can create, with support… a small team, then.” She read his plan, quickly, making a few markings as she went. Fei’nur usually went in alone, but she had led enough commando raids to be more than competent at this sort of operation.

“A single squad on a runabout? For the naval personnel it will be myself and Lieutenant Seldayiv, Colonel, assuming that she volunteers.”

“A runabout is  _ not _ covert, Lieutenant. A small freighter, fitted for smuggling, provides cover for some moderate weaponry, comms gear, and other elements we will require. A heavy squad is for if we must switch  _ to _ overt; they would follow, with some cover mission that keeps them on station in the event they are needed.” 

“Understood, then. We can hire such a freighter from the surface, though we’ll have to make it quick. How do you go about hiring a freighter, Colonel? Or, I suppose, can you recommend anyone who would know?”

“Chief Heen would be the one aboard ship with the most shipping experience, at least above board. The sooner we do so, the quicker Engineering can make the modifications we will need.” She tapped a few keys. “I’ve sent you an authorization to expend funds for the purpose.”

“Understood, Colonel. With your leave, I will go to speak to her immediately. I was trying to leave tonight, but we may have to wait until tomorrow to line up the lease, so the sooner I am about it the better.”

“Granted. Be about it, I will prepare myself and my gear for an extended operation off-ship.”

He came to attention, and then headed out and straight for his next destination--Chiefs Country, which was actually the residence for all Warrant Officers and Petty Officers, but since a lot (though not all) of them were Chiefs, they were grouped together. All the Warrants and the NCO Chief Petty Officers then shared a mess in turn which the Marine sergeants also shared-- _ Huáscar  _ just had three big messes, one for officers, one for warrants and petty officers, and one for enlisted. 

Arterus well remembered his grandmother’s stories from the fleet days. You cherished people like the human Chiefs. They had proved by long and hard service that they could get things done. In their area of expertise few could match them, certainly no generalist officer, and they were tactful enough to limit their hesitation and warnings to areas where their competence made them sure. They kept order in the lower ranks and when they were pleased with a ship, it always meant the ship was doing well. Conversely, however, nothing faster could bring ill-discipline than a corrupt Chief who had somehow gotten through the long and arduous process (especially in the Rihannsu Starfleet) to reach that rank. 

PriFly had been fully repaired before they left Gersal. They had upgraded the transparent aluminium paneling to improve protection. Stasia was sitting at her swiveling control chair with her trademark pair of heavy-duty headphones and a microphone on, pulled over a crushed up dress cap of the blue uniform of the Starfighter Corps. She was wearing a sweater, though it was in the uniform allotment. 

The woman was in an almost continuous chatter with orbital control for Geisling maintaining the local exclusion zone around the squadron. “Sarkauz 13-46 you are fifteen kiloklicks from our exclusion zone, come about on course heading 360-Z16 and begin to descend toward orbital plane Bravo. Dera 55-98, maintain separation one kiloklick from Eedam 10-90 on heading 090-Z40… Johnson 42-30 you are approaching the exclusion zone at twenty-three kiloklicks and need landing authorisation to descend on course heading 220-Z15 to orbital plane Alpha for reentry; contact Geisling primary on band 10-Alpha and confirm permission, reduce speed to 2 klicks-second to hold until permission received.” 

She glanced up at Arterus and then killed her mic for a moment. “Chief Ter’yun, take control.” The second on watch seamlessly activated his console to take over lead for squadron exclusion duties. “Confirm, PriFly Actual at Station Two,” he declared as he pointed at the indicator light and then activated his mic and began to speak to the freighters.

“What can I help you with, Lieutenant?” 

“Chief Héen,” he said, hesitating for a moment. PriFly was always a little overwhelming and the display had left him mildly guilty that he was about to disrupt her work-flow. But he’d already done that. “Chief Héen, I need some assistance with an authorised rental of a civilian merchant on Geisling for myself and Colonel Fei’nur to use, with the Captain’s permission.”

“Huh. That’s a new one. Are we talking about a wetboat or bareboat charter?” She answered as she flipped her console from displaying the orbital chatter to an extranet access terminal. “And did you check the UGP Admin website yet?” She added. 

The Alliance Unified Government Purchasing Administration. Arterus tried to remember if he’d ever experienced something closer to hell. “Wetboat? Bareboat? Would they really have a lease?”

“I  _ might  _ be able to get a dry lease… It means no crew, by the way, bareboat, and dry should at least have provisions but not services,” she explained, “On UGP, though the interface sucks. We could also call down to the planet, but if I’m guessing that Colonel Fei’nur authorised this, she might not like the like eight forms she’ll have to sign afterwards.” 

“...We are in a hurry, that might yet be necessary.”

“How soon?” 

“Later today, optimally.” 

Stasia cast him a baleful look. “Yeah… Screw UGP. Especially right now. It’s crashed ten times since the re-mob started. Okay, so the main spaceport on the planet is called Allen’s Town and that’s where most of the small independent traders go. There’s a few specialist ports for exports that pick up the big bulkers. I’ll tap the ATC network and make some calls, we should be able to get you something ready by 0400 tomorrow at the latest.” 

“I’ll take that, Chief. Thank you.”

“No problem! I just like getting things done, and with every single warship we’ve got concentrated here but ready to cover a second planet a moment’s notice, traffic is as congested as hell, anyway. Need the break sometimes.”


	3. Act 3

**Act 3**

  
  


The Klingons were coming to dinner. The  _ Huáscar _ ’s shields went down--and would stay that way, even as they remained technically at Condition Yellow, but reduced to MC Yoke. The situation, with rapid mobilisation of the reserves, had unambiguously improved in the past four days to warrant the risk for this--and they’d need to bring the Klingon commanders back to their ships rapidly in the event of an attack, so it made sense. 

Violeta managed to not be involved because in the circumstances Zhen’var insisted on having one of her command staff on the bridge. Abebech, of course, was temporarily leading the defence force as the senior Alliance officer, and had pushed her attackers further out to provide more warning. That meant that Will was at her side, and so was Fei’nur, Nah’dur, Anna, Lar’shan (the schedules had worked out for his rotation on flight duty), Daria, Arterus, Fera’xero. All were in full dress uniform, except Fera’xero, but he’d put on his best sash. 

Considering Klingon standards of honour, this included swords. Anna had a Koncierz given to her by a relative during a visit to Warsaw. Zhen’var, Fei’nur, and Nah’dur used their Dilgar service pattern swords, but Lar’shan carried an English sword given to him by one of his father’s human friends who had bitterly opposed the expulsion from New Eden. Daria brought out the memory metal blade she was still training with, Fera’xero demurred from the custom due to the risk to his suit, and Will and Arterus both used swords that had been given to them as gifts by Casval Rem Deikun after he had taken power in Zeon before their departure. 

Both the transporter room and the conference suite converted to a banquet room had been selected to be directly below the bridge so that if an alert was called they could be to their posts in seconds while the Klingons were beamed clear. “Klingons signalling readiness for transport,” the transporter chief reported. 

Will glanced around, satisfying himself everyone was put together. “Captain, with your leave?” 

“So granted, Commander.” She imperceptibly stiffened.  _ This is going to be interesting… _

The transporter effect, different from that of this universe, flashed over the group of twelve Klingon officers. As it faded, bosun’s mate Tel’mur sounded his bosun’s whistle--Chief Dugan had personally trained the Dilgar. Krodak looked sharply, and then his eyes twisted back to Zhen’var. “Captain Zhen’var,  _ qaqIHmo' jIQuch, _ ” A snaggle-toothed grin. “Or do you prefer  _ Battlemaster _ ?” 

“Both are correct ranks, Commander Krodak. I answer to either.” She gave a sharp nod of greeting. “My officers.” She would introduce each, in turn.

He inclined his head. “It is good. Your people were faced with destruction and dared great things in response. Of Dilgar  _ bravery,  _ there is no doubt.” Still, he left the word a bit hanging. “I have heard I am not the first Klingon to meet a Dilgar.” 

“Colonel Fei’nur has done so before, that is correct.” She would not rise to the bait, even if Fei’nur slightly bristled.

“Battlemaster Fei’nur. Yes, that was the name I heard.” He made a gesture of respect. “It is said your drinking is legendary. You must be familiar indeed with the words  _ 'IwlIj jachjaj _ to win such praise.”

“I have not lost any of it recently, so it may scream quite loudly, Commander.” She replied, baring her teeth fractionally.

He bared his teeth too, grinning. “ _ Qapla' _ !” Then he nodded with his head, sharply. “Let us sup, Battlemaster Zhen’var, as allies.”

“Indeed. Everything has been prepared.” She would turn to lead them towards the mess, as Fei’nur watched the Klingons warily. She knew that gaining respect could be a double-edged sword with these sorts.

It could, but the Klingons looked forward to the feast that the ship’s Hospitality Staff was laying out before them. They settled down with the officers of the ship. Elia was waiting, having stayed behind to make sure everything in the banquet room was in order, and Zhen’var introduced her.

“The last of my officers, but certainly not the least, Battle Expert Elia Saumarez, my Operations Officer.”

“We greet you in honour,” Elia presented herself to them. “Please, sit.” 

“You have a Dilgar rank,” one of the Klingons, Lieutenant Varas, observed, with all the bluntness that befit a Klingon. “Why?” 

“I am an old  _ Huáscareno _ ,” Elia answered levelly, “which means I know no fear.” 

“Hah. Those are strong words from a human,” Varas smirked.

“But I mean it,” Elia stared at the Klingons, and then gestured to the grand painting on the wall of the Battle of Angamos which had been moved from the wardroom for the occasion. Flanking it were several close-ups, showing the desperate struggle of the men on the deck. “Harm’s Way is the Valiant Way! That is the battle-cry of the Dilgar Imperium’s Navy in the old days, and we do not forget it. The  _ Huáscarenos  _ preferred to fight for Honour and Right above any other thing, and so we found ourselves windswept, but unbent and unbowed. May I tell you the story of the name, from these combats to the present?” 

“Yes, come on with it, Battle Expert, let’s hear a story of war!” The Klingons roared as the liquor was passed around. 

Zhen’var leaned back in her chair with a smile she hid with a cup.  _ That’s it exactly, Elia. Now let’s just get through the night without bloodshed. _

Elia pulled back into her sense of the epic based on her reading of O’Brien and Forrester and delivered a rousing tale of the Peruvian Civil War and then the War of the Pacific. She immediately got the impression that few Klingons were familiar with the incredibly bloody history of humanity. When she reached the Combat of Angamos and covered Grau’s heroic death on the deck in honourable reprise of the death of Captain Prat that he had inflicted against the  _ Esmerelda _ , the Klingons  _ roared.  _

When she got to the Combat of Arica and the death of the Chilean Captain Thomson in battle against the  _ Manco Cápac,  _ Commander Krodak laughed ferociously. “Battlemaster, you willingly sought out command of a ship whose namesake took three commanders’ lives in one war? Truly you have a heart equal of a Klingon.” 

“An honorable death in battle, as they gained for themselves?  It is not such a terrible thing, Commander.” She replied, carefully picking her words. “It is a wretched  _ kshatriya  _ who returns unwounded from battle.”

“Kshatriya. My translator struggles with it, but I think that is a human tongue’s name for a warrior, is it not?” He folded his arms, chuckling. “You are warriors, I don’t doubt that. Tell me, Battle Expert, did this first  _ Huáscar  _ fight again?” 

“Oh yes!” Elia laughed brilliantly. “The War of the Pacific was won by Chile, but the Chileans were warlike people in those days, and fought a war over a tyrannical ruler amongst themselves as well, a decade later; it was called the War of Congress, and the Navy revolted against the President; they towed the  _ Huáscar  _ out of port in the middle of refit, and readied her for action in three days at sea…” 

In the meanwhile, several of the younger Klingon officers near Fei’nur had started drinking with her. Aggressively. That the legend had been brought up meant it was going to be tested. 

The old commando had a level expression as she took each mug in turn, and drained it in a calm, unhurried way, challenge glittering in her eyes each time she planted another empty vessel on the table.

Fei’nur’s amazing resilience to alcohol was steadily attracting more attention, but Elia was deft at keeping the attention of the crowd as she began to tell the story of the  _ Huáscar  _ of Tira. That was  _ her  _ story after all, the hour on which  _ she  _ had been brave, and chosen right over every kind of fear she had, and it was a chance to sing it. 

Zhen’var had a real smile on her face, as she listened to her friend weave her grand tale - one that she  _ deserved _ to be able to form - and tell others of the tale which had given such a shining moment of glory to that ship.

“And so, we found ourselves exiles for following the path of Honour,” Elia finished softly. “There is  _ no  _ shame in that, and never will be. When our cause it is just, then follow it we must. And so we have found ourselves here, on a third  _ Huáscar,  _ and we have already planted our flag in some glory…” She told the story of the Battle of A Bao a Qu, next. 

The Klingons were cheerfully drinking and boasting as the stories finished. Krodak had a big snaggle-toothed grin. “Though your ship was much superior, it did fight thousands. You are truly writing a reputation for yourself, Battlemaster. Did you even need us to come? It seems as if you could have fought as gloriously here as Grau at Angamos if the whole of the Nazi squadron had come against you!” It was clear that Elia had completely won the Klingons over to a companionable night of drinking and boasting, and she had sat down to finally eat with a bright grin which inside telegraphed her happiness to Zhen’var at having smoothed potential snags out. 

The Captain was well pleased indeed, though she gave a momentary wary look at how Fei’nur was building a pyramid of empty tankards of… _something_.

There were several Klingons looking increasingly incapable around her as she drank, and Krodak was distracted by it for a moment, staring. “Truly, Battlemaster Fei’nur seems unstoppable!”

“She is… unique. The last of an old breed from the Imperium.” Zhen’var replied, quietly, as the older Dilgar switched to another fresh tankard. The number of Klingons around her still able to meet her gaze was steadily falling.

“The Old Breed!” The Klingons raised a toast. 

Elia had settled down next to Fei’nur, and gently offered a gloved hand to her shoulder--a sisterly sort of affection that Elia knew Fei’nur would not appreciate from any except a Dilgar… And her. < _ You’re doing great keeping them entertained and engaged, but please don’t hurt yourself. _ >

It was rare she formed thoughts, not jammed by her cybernetics, but she did. < _ The Supreme Warmaster crafted my liver and kidneys. I could survive a continuous flow of this into my veins if I had cause to.> _

Some of the Klingons certainly wondered why Elia was laughing so hard, but most of them attributed it to the alcohol that had been passed around, not really noticing that she had imbibed little of it. Even some of the other officers thought they were finally seeing Elia a little drunk. 

Krodak chuckled, shaking his head and quaffing from his stein again. “The legend of Fei’nur continues. Battlemaster Zhen’var, so, we have our combined strength to defend the planet. What of the Triangle?” 

“That I shall be attempting to cover as much of as I can as a flying squadron, Commander. Reinforcements are not likely, so I must do my utmost with the forces at hand.”

He shook his head. “Battlemaster, the Orions are moving slaves again in the advantage that the withdrawal of the Alliance patrols presents. Not even the regular war with the Reich resulted in this much of a draw-down, and the Federation is distracted by the Dominion. There is no better time for them. My squadron has sensor logs.”

Her face went still, white hot fury boiling up in her. “Then I have a need to act.”  _ If I am tied here, what evils will come to pass without my keeping order…? _

“You wish to seek battle with them, and it would be honourable, if the force wasn’t so overwhelming. Here, we will detach some young officers with their ships that need blooding, you can send your cloaked ship with us can you not?” The Klingons did not, as a rule, bother with the dishonourable Orions or care what they did outside of Klingon space, but fighting was always a means to ingratiate oneself in Klingon society, the only acceptable one. 

“Likely so. Much depends on whether my orders change, but something to restore order must be done. Commander Imra is a veteran who is skilled indeed.”

“Could you detach her ship to accompany a small squadron, now that we have arrived?” 

“I can, and I shall. A peace is never won by hiding behind walls, and the longer we let them restore their influence, the harder it will be to lever those elements out again.”

“Excellent! Then we shall face battle!” The roars of Klingon delight were slightly quieter now, two of them having passed out against Fei’nur. The commando continued to calmly drink. 

  
  
  
  
  


After the feasting, Fei’nur came up to Daria in the corridor. She looked remarkably functional for a woman who had just drunk a trice of Klingons under the table. 

“Colonel?” Daria stopped, the Dorei woman turning back toward her. “Is something a-matter?” 

“No, Lieutenant. Not as such. The Captain has assigned me to lead a covert mission in the Triangle, and I am attempting to assist in assembling a small team for it. I wish you to be on that team with myself.”

“ _ Oh.  _ Can we talk about it somewhere?” Her ears flexed and her expression narrowed to reflect her attentiveness. 

“That would be preferable.” She glanced about. “This way, Lieutenant.” Fei’nur had memorized the layout of the  _ Huáscar _ for purposes of defending it, but it had other uses, such as now.

Daria padded along. “I confess, I thought you would be more inebriated than you are. Merciful Goddess, how did you  _ do  _ that?” 

“State secret.” Fei’nur replied, utterly serious, before her face broke into a smile. “More seriously, I’ve had a lot of parts replaced over the years.”

Daria stared for a moment and then giggled. “Mother… You seriously were drinking them under the table with a cybernetic liver, weren’t you, Colonel?” 

“I can neither confirm nor deny, Lieutenant, but Dilgar cybernetics may still,  _ theoretically _ , be ahead of the multiversal bell-curve. Ah, here we go.” She stopped at a compartment that was currently vacant, tapping in an override for the two of them to step in.

Daria followed her in with a knowing smile. “All right then. So what’s the plan for this mission? What is it about?” 

“Chief Héen is attempting to acquire a small freighter. Lieutenant Arterus’s cousin is in danger from the  _ Tal Shiar _ . We are going to investigate, possibly get me on the kill-list of  _ another _ intelligence agency, and extract her from her dangerous current situation. We have corroboration of their activities spiking with the withdrawal of our patrols.”  

“...With all due respect, Colonel, I like Arterus and I don’t want to see his cousin get killed by the Tal Shiar or something else like that, but this effort for one person, a relative of the crew? It seems unfair.” 

Fei’nur bared her teeth and rose to her full height. “L’tenant, reminding you of your obligations the Official Secrets Act,  _ his cousin is the exiled de jure Empress of the Rihannsu _ .” There was a growl in every word, the Colonel having a flare of anger in her usually placid eyes.

Daria pursed her lips. “My apologies, Colonel. I actually hadn’t known that. He doesn’t talk about it very much. So this is regarded as politically important?” 

“The Captain regards it as such, given the difficulties we face in the Triangle.”

“Again, my apologies. Of course I will accompany you.” She came to attention rigidly. “You have my utmost respect, Colonel.” 

Fei’nur seemed to uncoil, shaking her head gently. “I know. I’m sorry, Lieutenant, there must be quite the culture shock for us both coming to  _ Huáscar _ .”

“She is one of the more military ships in the Alliance, Colonel. I am thankful for her, because her tradition is very righteous and good, but she stands for a part of the Alliance I would have not normally sought out. There are those in high command who seek to make us more military.”

“I am not sure there are many captains more military than ours, Lieutenant. If you wish to discuss the matter further off-duty, certainly I am amenable… or on our journey undercover in a freighter, it seems.” She inclined her head. “Thank you for being willing.”

“It is not a problem. I wouldn’t want Arterus to lose his cousin. I did get the impression they were very close. When do I report?” 

Fei’nur checked her chrono on her wrist. “I would start packing now, Lieutenant. We are only waiting on our freighter.”

“Understood, Colonel. By your leave?” 

The Dilgar woman gave her a nod. “So given.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


“We have received orders to sail,” Commander Imra said without preamble as she stepped from her cabin onto the bridge of the  _ Heermann.  _ On the bridge before her most of the crew were drinking some kind of stimulant beverage, tea or coffee. She had her own heavy-duty handleless navy mug in hand as she stood there, looking like she’d be happier and more dignified with a pea coat over the uniform she was wearing. 

“Captain?” Commander Goodenough looked up from the command chair, his dusky face flickering into a grin as he tossed his ponytail back and set his tea mug back into the rack on the armrest. To his background, that specific phrasing brought a bit of a thrill to his blood. 

“We are conducting a sweep against Orion slavers that the Klingons identified the ratline for. We’ll be leading a squadron of six of those Birds-of-Prey that have functional cloaking devices,” she gestured with a gloved hand to the tactical plot on the viewscreen. 

“Our own Preventative Squadron?” Goodenough laughed. “With pleasure, Captain.” 

“You didn’t have half so many scoundrels as there are on those half ships, Commander, but at least they are spoiling for a fight, since I aim to get them one,” Abebech replied. “Lieutenant Ca’elia, you should have the coordinates. Set them in.” She tapped her omnitool. “Abel, we’re going hunting. I need Warp Seven in two minutes.” 

“Warp Seven in two minutes, Captain… Bringing the reactor to full power now. Are we remaining at Condition Yellow?”

“For the moment, yes. Carry-on.” She stepped up to Ensign Carstairs at the science/sensor station where Goodenough normally sat. “Raise the Klingon Bird-of-Prey  _ Karrex.  _ Request they confirm their squadron’s coordinates and check them against our own, and to confirm readiness for warp.”

“Sir!”

“Do you want the bridge, Captain?” Goodenough asked. 

“No need for that,” she shook her head. “Keep your regular watch. It’ll be thirty-two hours to reach the location the Klingons described, or more.” A pause. “Lieutenant Ca’elia, is our course laid in?” 

“Ready to engage on your command, ma’am!” The young helmswoman sounded enthusiastic, green eyes gleaming with excitement.

“The Klingons confirm their readiness, Sir,” Ensign Carstairs reported. 

“Engines ready for warp, Captain,” Commander Veeringen’s voice echoed tinnily from her omnitool. 

“Commander Goodenough, take the ship to warp. Ensign Carstairs, signal our allies to follow.”

“Lieutenant Ca’elia,” the Commander leaned forward. “Warp Seven.” 

“Warp Seven, aye!”

The ship elongated and rushed ahead, stars turning to the streaks of warp drive. Abebech watched the tactical display adjust, and confirm that the Klingons had followed them to warp. 

“I’ll let you know when to cloak, but probably not until the next watch,” she observed. “All’s well, Commander.” With that, the ever-enigmatic woman returned to her sea cabin. 

  
  
  
  


Anastasia Héen had been true to her word. By 0400 a small independent trader was cleared ready at the spaceport, and Fei’nur had started pulling together the last of the team for them to meet at the transporter room and beam down to take control of it. Arterus and Daria both resorted to Niltox to deal with the Mandatory Fun excesses of the Klingon feasting and make sure they were in top form for the flight, administered by a Nah’dur who had given herself a dose first. 

“Have fun with Fei’nur!” She had shouted as they departed, leaving both of them to stare at each other. 

When they got to the transporter room Arterus couldn’t help but ask, “Colonel, is there a reason that the Surgeon-Commander brings you up every time she possibly can?” 

“I have known her family a very long time, Lieutenant.” she replied, giving him a steady expression back that discouraged further inquiry.

“That would explain it, yes,” he acknowledged without further questioning. A Rihannsu knew not to press on matters of family, privately held. “Are we all ready?” 

“We are. Transporter Chief, beam us down.”

“Aye-aye, Colonel.”

With that, the party disappeared from the  _ Huáscar  _ and reappeared at the spaceport. Fei’nur headed up to the entrance of the rental office with Arterus, who was asked to display his identification documents as an Alliance officer to prove his fitness to operate the freighter, while Fei’nur signed the financial surety documents. 

She grimaced at seeing the estimated total replacement cost of the freighter.  _ This is as bad as signing for the Marine TOE on taking command! Reasonable wear and tear of furnishings? We’re taking this on a covert mission, not an ore-hauling run! _

In particular was a section of the terms which specifically placed Fei’nur or the Government liable for  _ Loss or Casualty in Employment for Operations of War, Marque or Reprisal on the behest of Government officers or officials thereof  _ and enjoined the vessel from being so issued except as requisition of the appropriate authorities. 

Fei’nur quietly sent that one up to Captain Zhen’var, unsure whether she counted as ‘appropriate authorities’.

The message back was;  _ If the Alliance won’t back us, the Warmaster will. _

_ Gods, but I shall hope she does not have to. Thank you, Captain. _

Fei’nur and Arterus finished signing and verifying documents, and then they were given the two-factor authentication chits and codes and the entire group was allowed into the secured area of the spaceport to pick up a 95-meter long freighter, much longer than it was wide, with a line of cargo pods down the sides and a forward control section and two old-style round warp nacelles. 

“Well… it will do.” Her eyes scanned down both flanks, noting the old dents and scars of a long star-faring life. “Board and inspect her stem to stern, report any deficiencies, and prepare to lift off.” With two Engineering chiefs and two shuttle pilots as the ‘crew’ alongside Arterus as well as a squad of Marines, there wasn’t exactly a deep bench to operate the vessel, but fortunately it was highly automated, and they started their checks. Daria had enough qualifications to join in. 

Once she boarded, Fei’nur went straight to the small bridge and glanced around. “Remember, we are an independent trader, act accordingly to all we encounter. Store uniforms and identifying equipment ready to hand but out of plain view.”

They started changing into mufti and finishing pre-flight on the trip. Arterus looked positively rakish in the trousers and white dress blouse he had selected and Daria took Dorei robes. Then they finished the positive pre-flight. “Permission to request take-off permission?” Daria asked to Fei’nur, lightly and bemused, hoping to be on more even ground with her.

“Oh, go ahead, my experience with piloting consists of crashing shuttles.” The commando wore a simple spacer’s jumpsuit, with masses of pockets and loops. She seemed far less strict and military, more like a grizzled old rogue of a free trader than the Fei’nur the Huáscar knew.

“Aye-Aye, Colonel!” With that, they requested permission and rose into orbit. 

As they did, Stasia took over and directed them like any other trader away from the military ships and on their outbound warp trajectory. The warmth in her voice, however, she could not hide. “Merchant  _ Vanir,  _ this is Huáscar Actual. Bon voyage and safe travels. You are cleared for warp.” 

  
  
  
  
  


Back on the  _ Huáscar,  _ Elia’s watch ended and she went over to the Captain’s Ready Room, knowing that Zhen’var would be in the cubbyhole of a sea cabin accessible through it, off duty and winding down herself. She chimed the door. “Captain, permission to enter?” 

“Granted.” Came through the speaker, the woman in bed, working on a pad as she leaned back against the bulkhead, glancing up. Once the door closed, she would offer; “Elia, replicator is yours as usual.”

“Thank you. Is there anything you want as well?” Elia turned to the replicator. “Tea, traditional Guernsey, and a crab sandwich,” she instructed, using the voice activated feature to avoid issues with her gloves. 

“Zhen’var Six.” She winked, leaning back with a sigh of tiredness.

“Zhen’var Six,” Elia added, and brought the plates and cuppa over to Zhen’var’s bed, sitting on it with her and arranging them on the nightstand next to it. “You look simultaneously exhausted and as comfortable as I can possibly imagine.”

“I think it is a Dilgar thing, honestly. I would rig a hammock if it would not cause comment.”

“Hang the comments,” Elia said, sipping from her cup. “I mean, really.”

“Do we even  _ have _ one in the Requisition Portal? I admit I have not looked.”

“You could spend some of your salary on it, you know. It’s not like us officers and gentlewomen have much else to spend it on.” 

Zhen’var gave her a  _ look _ . “Counting the parts I do not donate, that… is a true statement, Elia. Granted, shipping is another matter.” She shook her head, and put down the datapad, carefully sliding it under her pillow.

“Oh gods, I’ll just buy it for you then.” Elia grinned wryly. “The Earth Alliance froze my trust fund, but there’s a hypothetical chance I’ll get it back.” She leaned back with Zhen’var, close enough to cuddle, albeit through clothes and blankets. But that was still close by telepath standards.

“Oh, hush, I shall buy a hammock! Please, I make more than you, and the replicator means my victuals do not cost more!”

“Fair.” Elia stretched. “I’m sorry about how hard things were for me lately. And if I maybe pressed telepath solidarity a bit hard when we intervened at Zeon.” 

“I do not think so. Nobody  _ else _ does, so someone has to push it all the harder, and telepaths do not know what to make of mother and I.”

“I just call you decent people,” Elia shrugged and rubbed her supplely gloved hands together. “I hope Artesia is okay. I’m looking forward to having her onboard in some capacity.”

“Oh, Divine, yes, she will be wonderful to have aboard! Though I do not think she will end up with her own winged eye, I have put in the formal request to have her assigned aboard once she finishes training - and I have put in a low-priority request to ensure she is alright after the attacks.”

“I’d have trouble seeing the woman who stood her ground and escaped from a disintegrating O’Neill cylinder could be hurt in what went down. And more seriously, there’s no training facilities for transfer officers on Gersal or New Eden. She’ll do marvelously.” Elia ducked her head. “I just wish I could get through to Abebech, too.”

“Give it time, Elia. She has likely seen a great deal, and it will take  _ time _ . A very long time, until she is willing to share her demons.”

“She’s probably got a lot. The universe she comes from is, by all accounts, virtually insane, and telepaths--espers--have a freighted reputation there. I’ve read everything I can on the Earthreign, and pretty much it all just boils down to ‘it was a totalitarian dictatorship of espers and it was terrible’, with no proof and all the evidence lost to the ages. Kind of hard to conceive of a humanity spacefaring for four thousand years, too. It’s just, you know, any telepath I know should be insane from being that walled off and isolated.”

“All you can do is be open to it, and let her know that when-ever,  _ if _ she wants to let down her walls, you are there.”

Elia nodded gently. “I know. Sometimes, though, she seems dreadfully scary. Dare I, as a professional naval officer, say that about a woman I respect and want to be friends with.” 

“Friends can be scary.” Zhen’var mockingly bared her teeth in the most predatory face she could.

The telepath could only giggle, though, burying her face against Zhen’var’s shoulder. “For all I know you are actually a predator and that could actually be intimidating, in my best friend, I’m afraid it doesn’t have that effect!” 

“Hrmph, I shall have to gnaw on you to regain my intimidating factor.” She yawned widely.

“Oh gods.” Elia was shaking her head from the intensity of her laughter. “Well, surely this has been quite the mission. I admit I feel a little bad about sending one team and the  _ Heermann _ off and us just sitting around at condition yellow getting exhausted, finding new ways to get a bruise on a hatch combing, and ordering freighters around.”

The Dilgar woman gave her a  _ look _ . “Elia Saumarez, you know  _ far better _ than to  _ tempt fate _ by saying such things.”

“I’m an eighteenth century British naval officer, reincarnated!” She answered. “I want glory and prize money, clearly.”

“You picked the wrong Navy... Though, you know, our regulations  _ do _ have prize money rules? I will have to see if we could work anything out here.” A shake of her head. “Was this a social visit, then, or have I side tracked you from the original purpose?”

“No, no original purpose. It was bothering me at an emotional level, not a professional one.”

“Then, here, try a dumpling.” She picked one up off her plate with a smirk. “My first efforts at culinary fusion!”

“...Okay.” Elia reached for a tissue and used it to daintily take it from her friend’s hand and deposit it in her mouth. “Mmnn… What the heck is this? It tastes Indian, but the dumpling is very Dilgar.”

“Well, I was trying to come up with a way of eating cleanly at my desk, so I took  _ toin _ flour dumplings and put rogan josh in them.” She looked quite pleased.

“...Gods, that’s  _ genius.  _ No wonder this tastes so good.” Zhen’var’s eyes had lit up.

“I cannot wait to surprise Nah’dur with some. She may claim they are not authentic, but if  _ I _ am the one making it… how can it not be?”

“The terrifyingly cute thing is that Nah’dur will probably admit the argument is logical and agree it’s authentic…” Elia impulsively, and quickly, hugged Zhen’var. “I should let you sleep.”

The woman flushed hotly under her fur, though she gave a smile. “You should,  _ but… _ ” The effect of the teasing was ruined by another wide-mouthed yawn.

Elia laughed brightly. “If the Almighty or the Old Gods or Fate or Dharma or whatever hadn’t made me straight, I’d  _ totally  _ be interpreting that a certain way, Zhen’var.”

“Just for that, you are helping me rig the hammock I am about to figure out how to replicate, Elia!” She was laughing as she said it, rolling off the bed to her feet.


	4. Act 4

**Act 4**

 

As they raced toward the anticipated location of their ambush, the  _Heermann,_ on schedule, with the Klingon ships in loose formation around her, made a final adjustment to her course. Then, at Goodenough’s order, they proceeded to cloak. With comms silent, the final course correction to keep them together and on track would have to be sufficient to put them all in the right place at the right time, able to properly engage their target.

A few minutes Abebech came up onto the bridge, drinking from a mug of coffee. The  _Heermann_ ’s commander was as calm as she could ever be as she went to half-sit and half-lean against one of the bridge railings, regarding the bridge crew sharply. For a moment, behind those sunglasses, she said nothing, and just regarded her crew.

Ca’elia glanced at the repeater at her station occasionally, trying to keep her own situational awareness current.

“Officers of the  _Heermann,_ ” Abebech started softly, “I need you to be ready to act with absolute decision. Any failure will potentially lead to the loss of the slaves. The Orions are known to eliminate ‘cargo’ to hide the evidence, and furthermore there is the risk that the ill-ordered militia we are fighting with would accidentally destroy the ship while trying to cripple it. The Klingon regulars would not, but these are house troops.”

She took a swig of her coffee. Sometimes, it seemed to be the only thing that Abebech consumed. “So, here we are. We need to have an action plan to open the shields of the enemy, destroy their warp drive, in short order. We have tactical guides for most of the usual Orion fast smugglers and pirate ships of the type used to run sapient cargo. We will let our friends begin the ambush--and then we must finish it with a single blow. We need to ignore the rush at the start of the battle, and then decloak and put everything into weapons for a single precise blow. This will require careful coordination of helm and weapons.”

Abebech used her omnitool to bring a  _Wanderer-_ class blockade runner up. With weapons pods amidship and two massive warp drives, the ship looked like a sleek, fast compromise between classical Klingon and Federation design methodologies, 195 meters long, 66 meters wide and 19 meters high. “Two twin phaser emitters, two twin photon torpedo launchers. 9,000 tons of cargo and up to 1,800 slaves. Crew of 102. The premier Orion ship. Warp Factor Eight maximum cruise, more for short duration. Do we know this is what they’re using? No, but it’s what we need to prepare our battle-plan against.”

“We likely manoeuvre better, Captain, but the weapons pods, is that armament the base, or what our  _target_  has…?” Ca’elia asked from her station, eyes expressively pensive.

“It is what our target should have, L’tenant. Each pod with two phasers and two photon torpedo tubes, L’tenant. This means we must bear in mind their firing arcs when targeting them. What is the best angle to take them from, in your assessment, guns?”

Abdulmajid shrugged. “Ahh, Captain, certainly one of the aft quarters, where their warp drives mask their firing arcs and yet still allow us to fire upon our target, of course the warp drives.”

“That would also, however, keep us from directly targeting their weapons. How can we fix that to make sure that they don’t induce the Klingons into destroying them?”

“Aft ventral, ma’am, it keeps us out of the forward arcs and gives us both our primary targets, though we would not be able to strike the bridge as a result. Hmm. Directly above, then! We could hit all three primary targets!”

“It does however mean that the enemy can concentrate all of his weapons against us,” Abebech mused.

“Not quite,” Goodenough shook his head. “Captain, the turning radius of an accelerating photon torpedo is not small. If we decloak close enough in, they can only engage us with phasers, not torpedoes.”

“I can get us inside that arc, ma’am.” Ca’elia’s confidence was resolute.

“Then that’s our plan.” Abebech looked sharply at the helmswoman for a moment, and then smiled. “That you well. All right, it’ll be another two hours. Stand ready, and don’t let yourselves get bored.”

  
  


Onboard the freighter, Arterus was getting Viinerine from the replicator, setting the dish down on the table, when Fei’nur came in. He stood up again. “Colonel. Getting dinner yourself, Ma’am?”

“Remember, freighter crew.” came from her as she went to the replicator, tapping in a code and moving to sit with a mixture of unidentified meats-on-a-stick. “But I am, Lieutenant.”

“I remember, but if they’re recording inside of our mess, Colonel, we surely have more problems than some silence can help us with.”

“Heh, a true enough statement.” She moved to sit, pulling out her pad and tapping a text up upon it. “All well with the ship, then, no further messages from your cousin?”

“No, she hasn’t gotten anything else out,” Arterus answered, a bit nervously. “I wish I could hurry us along faster, but I know it is not possible. Still, our bond--and she is my rightful Empress. I could only die for her, and that would not be enough. I have a feeling that though you do not know Mnhei’sahe, though, you understand that, and its principles, well enough.”

“If the Imperium had and followed such a concept, we would be a great power.” She shrugged, and turned back to her pad. “We will make it soon enough, and we will rescue her, no matter how many I must kill along the way. I have my own rightful Woman-Emperor.”

“You do, Colonel? I did not know…. As much as I feel humbled that you think the Ruling Passion of the Rihannsu might have let you stand against the humans in your own universe. Many a Rihannsu would think so as well, but I was trying to avoid being so presumptuous.”

“We lacked a unifying force, a concept to make venal men act towards the greater good. The Supreme Warmaster  _tried_ , his student tried as well, and they could get the front to support them, but others feared and envied, and stabbed them in the back.”

“We have had such venality ourselves, many times. My family only created a true Imperial throne upon the Empty Chair because of it. We lost our throne because of it. But, I admit, though it pains me so, we have an Empire now, and you do not. The humans and their ‘federation’ certainly tried very hard to remove it from us, and in the end, had to abandon their effort.”

“We did ill things, though we would have drowned the stars in blood to survive. At the end, it was only to survive free that we were fighting. We live, however, and that must be made sufficient.” It was a quite intellectual statement which reminded Arterus of the hidden depths of the Last Spectre.

“The Rihannsu, The Declared, fled Vulcan with only a few ships, to hold to our traditions and customs. Our Empire was built by those who fled their home. Perhaps, in parts, we may have much in common, Colonel. Battlemaster.”

“You merely escaped soon enough to be able to  _rebuild_  before foes found you. The Dilgar have no such luck.”

“You will always have a friend in me, Colonel, for this day, and for the moral spirit of knowing that we might have walked the same road you did. Yet, I am Rihannsu, and long-lived. With some luck and help from the Elements, I will still be here in a hundred and seventy years. I have a feeling that I will yet see great and proud Dilgar fleets, before my eyes close and my name is given to the memory of the undying Stars.”

“Well, one can hope. Even so, that does… well, we shall see.” She had started to say something, then decided it did not have to be said, not yet. “Lieutenant.” Her plate had been demolished, and she moved to place it in the recycler. “We will be there soon enough.”

"Live fast, fly high, fight hard, die well, Colonel.” He rose, as well.

“I have no need to do the first two, and I hope the fourth waits a while yet.” She gave a small, closed-lip smile back, with a sharp nod.

“It is an old benediction of the fleet, Colonel,” Arterus offered softly. “Mnhei’sahe to you.” He stepped out for his bunk. Not much longer, indeed.

  
  


The  _Heermann_ was at stations, and most of the crew was too nervous to do anything else. They had reached their position and were standing by under cloak, with six Klingon Birds-of-Prey presumably standing off nearby. There might be eighteen hundred slaves on the ship they were waiting for--or none at all. Either way, they would send a message by taking it.

Under law, Abebech should decloak, declare that she had evidence the enemy was slaving, and demand them to heave-to and submit to inspection. She had no intention of doing that in the slightest. The Klingons were going to handle that part for her. And if they broke the rules, well… They were her allies, and she would act to protect them anyway. Enforcing the rules on Klingon houses was not her business.

“Captain, vessel detected,” Goodenough’s voice snapped across the bridge. “Approaching on the expected vector, Warp Six.”

“Helm, try to get us a bit above their projected vector.” They were the bottom of the bag, the tail of a reverse-V strung out through open space. Abebech knew there was no chance to be exact with the uncertainties involved in when they would drop out of warp under warp strafing attack from the Klingons.

“Trying to get us above their projected vector, aye aye, Captain.” Ca’elia called out, hands dancing over the helm console.

Goodenough watched intently for the first sign of it, straining at the sensor outputs. The computer delivered the result.... “Captain! Decloaking signatures…”

“Stand by to transfer power to weapons!” Abebech raised a gloved hand.

Abel’s disembodied voice came from engineering. “All power ready for weapons banks… Standing by.”

The group of six Klingon Birds of Prey collectively outmatched the  _Wanderer_ already as they decloaked in front of it. The Orion suddenly found itself moving into a trap at Warp Six, and violently de-accelerated as a swarm of six photon torpedoes converged on it. The Klingons had not even provided warning.

Abebech politely grimaced. If there  _wasn’t_ an evidence of a slave trade onboard, then there would be a considerable number of questions asked by OIG, even though this was very much the decision of the Klingons, since running silent they had had no communications and no prospect of them. She watched silently as the torpedoes inexorably spun toward their target and slammed in a slew of staggered impacts into the Orion and her shields began to collapse.

They had agreed to attack the ship, there was no worrying about it. She brought her hand down. “Transfer power to weapons, Helm, finalise position! Weapons, stand by to fire…”

The  _Heermann_ followed the Klingons into wavering into view, ‘tipping’ down from above. “Guns, pitching in two… one… now!” Helm called out across the bridge to her compatriot who would have to be ready for the attitude shift.

Guns finished locking on, and with the usual muttered invocation to Allah, Abdulmajid opened fire as the  _Heermann_ finished appearing. The battle was sudden, sharp, and over in moments. The forward batteries stitched through one of the warp drives after the first torpedoes had battered down the shields.

As they did, a second burst of fire was directed against the weapons pods. The guns of the  _Wanderer-_ class ship were still firing on the Klingons. The pulse of light from the  _Heermann_ put a quick end to half of that fire, a beam striking a Bird of Prey cutting off in mid-charge as one of the pods was squarely struck. Stitched with fire from end to end and wreathed in explosions and plasma, it was left crumpled and black.

“Good shooting, Lieutenant Mehmet, keep it up!”

The Orion ship shifted fire to the  _Heermann,_ phasers lashing out but torpedoes, thanks to Ca’elia’s sharp manoeuvring, unable to bear upon her tormenter. With shields still down from the total concentration of energy to weapons after decloaking, the  _Heermann_ lurched, hard, even from the twin phaser hits on her armour.

“Keep firing!” Abebech ordered, ignoring the damage reports, there was no time for them yet. “Shields up!”

The  _Heermann_ ’s main battery lashed out again, and the second pod fell silent as it too was wreathed in plasma, the  _Wanderer_ type ship tumbling from several more Klingon torpedo hits. Ca’elia then completed a leisurely sweep around, a second lashing by the Orion phasers having been averted.

Abebech looked at her omnitool. “All over in three minutes. Goodenough, have you told the Klingons to prepare boarding parties?”

“Yes, Captain. Commander Klarak confirms that they are preparing to beam aboard.”

“You have the bridge, Commander Goodenough. L’tenant Ca’elia, with me, please. I don’t trust Klingons with liberated slaves.”

There was a momentary flash of surprise from the young Dilgar woman, before she jumped to her feet. “Yes ma’am!” She was already grabbing her service pistol and belt from where she stashed them by her station in action.

“Very good. Right this way…” She worked on her omnitool as she rose. “Lieutenant Veeringen, ship status?”

“No critical systems hit, Captain! Just a few good chunks from the armour.”

Visibly excited, the helmswoman fell in beside her both intimidating and inspiring Captain, beaming internally at having been chosen for a boarding action personally.

“Normally I’d never do this, but the  _Heermann_ only has a very small detachment on it,” Abebech explained, “In which case, I am really the least likely to come to harm aboard--and you the second.”

Corporal Gar’akh with his squad of Marines and two Security personnel, the entire complement, led by PO Annette Jervis, were formed up and waiting for them.

She would finish strapping on light body armour picked up at the arms locker on the way, a rifle slung over her shoulder, knowing time was very short indeed, before giving her “Ready, Captain!”

“Transporter Chief, beam us over!” Privately, of course, Abebech was quite willing to make sure they  _found_ their evidence. Anyone with a large ship of the  _Wanderer_ type was involved in the slave trade. But rationally, and unfortunately, it was very unlikely there would be a  _need._

The good news was that it had unfolded exactly as she had wished. No battle, just an  _execution._ Short, boring, and predictable. The more often that happened, the more she was reassured that she wasn’t losing her touch.

  
  


The world of Terramka was one of the countless small worlds of the Triangle, the origin for the name was uncertain, the history murky. Settled by hardy Rihannsu farmers of ch’Havran stock, they were isolated from the Empire, and had liked it that way. They kept to their profession, and plied it honestly, trading food to other worlds of the Triangle. A few times the Empire had exerted sway over the world, but never permanently or long enough to change it.

It had many old cultural customs straight out of t’Rehu’s time. It was a natural place for Lial to have gone to ground. And now they had arrived, their freighter receiving a parking orbit and settling into it as if nothing was amiss. There was clearly just one bored ground station without much effort to establish a coordination or customs operation.

Arterus rose from his position at the conn. “Daria, how is the FEDC hookup coming?”

“Almost finished,” she answered, working with Corporal Tir’mar. The FEDC, or Field Expedient Detection Computer, was meant to hook up to standard civilian sensors. When it did, it would analyze the interference patterns in these sensors statistically, and based on information the user entered on the nature of the sensors and their specifications, the system would construction a simulation of the sensor output which was (with a high statistical probability) more accurate than the actual output from the sensor’s own processing software, turning interference into additional layers of detail.

Fei’nur leaned against a back wall, finding the lack of a command chair almost more normal for a freighter, given the few she had been on, looking nothing more than a very rough, roguish trader captain still. “You know what you are looking for.”

“I know the location of her farm, yes,” Arterus answered.

“Once you have a tactical picture, as much of one as we can get, I will be ready to beam down in five minutes.” Fei’nur pushed herself off the bulkhead.

“It’s producing data!” Daria reported. “Just another minute to home in on the location of the house and process the data there on the highest resolution that can be inferred from the ship’s sensor grid.”

“Well, not much longer, then,” Arterus answered. He stood rigidly poised, ready to go in spirit. “Colonel… What of the matter of uniforms?”

“None visible. Under civilian clothing, if one wishes, otherwise, insignia and arm-bands that may be put on if violence erupts. We are not  _seeking_  a full-scale fight, one may just find us.” Fei’nur was a very  _practical_  woman.

“Alright, Colonel.”

“Confirmed, Battlemaster!” Tir’mar saluted. “I will turn the troops out now, Ma’am.”

“Very well. I shall meet you in the transporter room. Our intention is first to rescue, second to gain intelligence, third escape, fourth, damage those who mean Alliance interests harm. Plan accordingly.”

“Understood,” Arterus affirmed.

“Colonel, we’ve got an issue,” Daria squinted at the portable holo-projector of the FEDC. “Looks there might have been energy weapons signatures in the area.”

Arterus’ face lost all expression.

“Recent?” Fei’nur had paused, her face growing still. “Lieutenant, did she have protection, or was she relying on her own weapons?”

“She was by herself, Colonel,” Arterus answered stiffly. “Let us go quickly, for I must see through one matter or another.”

  
  


Materialising on the Orion ship, Abebech moved quickly with Ca’elia at her side and the squad moving along behind her and spreading out into fire teams to cover as much ground as possible. In the end, all they did was start zip-tying Orions as they surrendered.

The Syndicate had no problems with surrendering, as long as persons doing so did not reveal any secrets of the Syndicate or cut deals with prosecution. They would guarantee cushy jobs on release and support of families in return, which was part of what made the Syndicate so hard to crack and a multi-generational threat.

In this case, it was a relief from the moment of the first surrender, because it meant they were more likely to find slaves aboard. A simple warlord transiting high value cargoes in ships would have certainly had a crew  _more_ willing to fight than the slavers, not less. As Abebech personally snapped some zip-ties into place, she switched to Dilgar to speak with Ca’elia. “Our chances of finding slaves in the hold increase. Orions are honourable to fight, unless in the Syndicate. There they know their families will be well treated; they will surrender in preference to death, but they will never give up the Syndicate’s secrets.”

“Unless the Mha’dorn do the asking, ma’am.” Ca’elia replied, her weapon in hand as she kept watch over her Captain, trying to keep in front of her when she advanced into the ship.

“You are right,” Abebech agreed conversationally. “Also, I could. Could you scout ahead, please?”

The Orion prisoner looked up in some concern. There was  _something_ in Abebech’s tone, too casual for the circumstance by far, carrying through even an alien tongue.

“Of course, ma’am.” Ca’elia crouched low, and moved forward, as quiet as she could be in duty boots as she peeked around the corner and moved further into the ship towards the cargo bays.

Ca’elia met up with the Klingons. One of them jerked up from where he had stood, repeatedly kicking an Orion down on the ground. “This cur won’t fight, Alliancer,” he remarked, spitting on the man in contempt. “They are slavers, the real Orion soldiers at least know how to  _fight_!”

“Then it is not worth the effort to kill him. We will have someone to interrogate him later.” Her eyes were relatively pitiless. Slavers were an object of hatred of  _any_  good naval - or police - officer.

“Klingons do not bother with interrogations…”

“Then I will handle it.” Abebech caught up, as composed as ever. She was still tugging a glove back into place, though. “Thank you, Warrior, do carry on securing more Orions in your very efficient manner. Two decks down, L’tenant. Concentrate the squads there, we have the ship. You’ll want to take corridor L5R2, the other ones have been sealed.”

“Yes, Captain!” Ca’elia stiffened, and moved off to gather more members of the boarding parties to press into the cargo bays. As she stormed along with a group of Klingons and Marines, bypassing resistance and rushing their way into the bays. The time taken to gather the squads meant Abebech had caught up with her again.

They were just in time to see a massive, muscular Green Orion shoving a lithe, light human woman still in chains and tattered club dancing garments into a featureless box. He looked up with shock at their arrival, barking a command. Another Orion from further down the corridor leveled a disruptor as the first reached to throw a lever on the side of the box.

It was the first time anyone from the crew of the  _Heermann,_ let alone the  _Huáscar,_ had seen Abebech Imra actively using telepathy. The first Orion’s eyes involuntarily went wide as the hand froze, and then withdrew from the lever.

Ca’elia’s rifle spat fire, as she snapped stun fire off at the second one with the disruptor. “Forward Marines,  _quickly_! They are trying to disintegrate the slaves!” Even as she said it, she was bounding ahead, darting like a bolt of lightning from cover to cover.

The man who had been reaching for the lever dropped to the floor and began to uncontrollably twitch. Then he stopped. Commander Imra stepped over to the console, driving a heel into his body and then rifling through his pockets for a particular chit she had already identified. She inserted that, and then raised his hand. Quick work with a vibro-dagger located in one boot severed a hand and she pressed it against the console.

Ahead of them, the remaining Orions fell back before the precipitous attack. They abandoned forcing the slaves into the disintegration chambers and turned their total attention to Ca’elia, the Marines and the Klingons. What they weren’t prepared for was the rolling series of flash-bangs which led the way with Ca’elia close enough to be rattled by them herself, but carrying on like a dancer from cover to cover as she dropped Orion after Orion.

Accessing the system with the chit she had identified and the fingerprints of the dead Orion, Abebech opened the doors to the disintegration chambers and deactivated the power to them, engaging the maintenance safety locks instead. Then she grabbed the handle on the wall which was the manual control to make sure they were not accidentally activated, and while nobody was looking, coolly ripped the tritanium arm from its brace while set in the off position.

With a sudden stop, leaving her almost confused, Ca’elia came up short at the end bulkhead to the cargo bays, breathing hard as she looked back.  _How have I gotten so far head…?_  Everything before that felt so much like a blur, as she called out; “Sweep back, secure the prisoners, get a seal on this hatch!”

“You heard the Lieutenant, move it!” Gar’akh repeated. The Dilgar and human marines spread out as the Klingons finished off their kills with their blades.

Dusting off her gloves, Abebech turned and looked down the corridor lined with slave pens. She gave a sharp, crisp nod to Ca’elia from a distance. “Smart work, L’tenant!”

“Ma’am! I intend to get the medics in and start getting them somewhere more psychologically safe!”

“Do it. Get Doctor Foru and all of the medical staff onboard to start processing them.”

The slaves were too brutalised to fight back. Barely realised they had been freed. Dazed, collared. But with a kind of clinical detachment, Abebech was quite well aware the Green Orion that she had killed and partially dismembered  _also_ had a collar; they were much better treated than common slaves, but many of the syndicate’s slave overseers were themselves slaves. Such was the way of the multiverse.

It was a way Lieutenant Ca’elia still had to learn, but for now, she had made some small shift of the cosmic scales, and that little blow against the fate Abebech was so experienced with would have to do. The woman stepped from line to line with a forced welcoming expression on her face, taking pictures to document for evidence against the living crewers as she communicated via omnitool to coordinate the beam-ins.

And then Abebech delivered a nice bowl square at her psyche, a metaphorical ball she hadn’t been expecting at all. “Once the medical staff is aboard and this area is secure, L'tenant, I want you to assemble your prize crew.”

Green eyes widened, first in surprise, then in utter, overwhelming joy. “Yes, Captain, I shall at once! Thank you ma’am!”

  
  


Beaming down to the site of the farm, Arterus was confronted by the sight of a burning barn. A small group of figures were clustered around the small estate house, and one was kneeling over another, stretched upon the ground. Then he didn’t see much more, as Daria knocked him into the ground, and just in time. The sizzling flash of a crew-served disruptor cannon tore through the air where he had been standing as the support weapon crew covering the team at the house opened fire.

Arterus grunted and dragged his rifle forward into the ready while remaining prone. “Thank you, Daria!”

“Just doing my job! Merciful Goddess, they aren’t messing around.” She edged forward on her belly, waving to the fire-team behind her, the beam cutting above them again and again. The Tal Shiar near the house had now gone prone behind cover themselves.

Then the second fire-team hit the disruptor cannon from the flank. Fei’nur had taken no chances and had made sure that the teams were beamed into separate groups providing interlocking cover for their landing positions. They might not be in uniform and this might technically be illegal (of course, so were the Tal Shiar), but the Tal Shiar wouldn’t care and they would know they were fighting professionals.

The air was rent with the tearing of disruptor beams and the chatter of the Alliance pulse rifles. A complicated squad engagement had evolved within seconds thanks to transporter technology. Daria knew that as long as that disruptor was in action they wouldn’t be working their way closer to the house. So she forged ahead, leading Arterus and the fireteam toward the cannon, so that both parts of the squad were converging on it.

This left the Tal Shiar by the house free to manoeuvre, but they had either wounded or a prisoner and so only a small group set out. In response, each time one of the Alliance marines stopped from Daria’s group, they sprayed suppressing fire on the Tal Shiar by the house to slow them down and keep them low. Taking them out right now didn’t matter, just keeping them from getting close enough to reinforce the fight around the disruptor.

“Elements, we’re really in it now!” Arterus gritted. He’d been through the basic ground combat training like all Alliance officers, but he wasn’t a tactical specialist like Daria who was making hand-signs and with quick barked orders was managing to coordinate both fireteams despite what was clearly jamming from the Tal Shiar.

“Oh, come on!” Daria laughed. “They could always have a mortar, too!” She spat a clod of dirt out of her mouth that had worked its way in when she had hit the deck a second time after rising to give signals. “We’ve  _got ‘em,_ unless reinforcements show up. It’ll just take another ten minutes. But Fei’nur…”

She trailed off. As it was, nobody had even died or been (probably) wounded in this little engagement, which wasn’t unusual, at all. Sometimes, her words seemed cursed, as they did now, for her long ears were letting her hear the whining noise of anti-gravs, and they warned her that their tactical situation was about to change, and not at all in the way she’d expected. “Goddess, we need Fei’nur.”

The source of the whine swung into view down a dusty dirt drive up to the house. It was a local vehicle, of course, a farm ute, a utility hover-vehicle for carrying cargo and people and supplying power to a winch and hoist and lights, the Tal Shiar would never bring anything identifiable with them on an operation like this. But Daria could see how the attachment points for barrels and panels of scrap steel were too cute by half, the cages for raising fowl in were cleverly pinned to the sides. It might be look like an overloaded farm hauler, but it had been carefully uparmoured as a technical using local supplies, by a professional military engineer experienced at doing such things. Of course, now that there was another figure crewing a disruptor in the bed, there was no doubt at all.

A green beam cut across the space of Daria’s head and again a tingling warming made her drop low and flat.  _We need to find some kind of depression to work our way through, they can almost depress to hit us on the ground!_ The scream and chatter of weapons fire seemed to come from every direction.

Through the grass, she could only see in fragments what happened next. The hover ute rolled up to the farm and a group of Tal Shiar rushed for it to board. As they did, a demolition charge appeared from nowhere and went tumbling through the air to land inside the cab of the Ute with its open door. A moment later a tremendous white-hot flash seared at her eyes and then the explosion followed.

They were trained to let no advantage no matter how sudden or unexpected go to waste. The Corporal leading the fire team that had the left flank of the disruptor’s position lunged up and hurled a Dilgar stick grenade into the disruptor cannon’s position. Another flash and resounding crack split the clear blue sky and then the team of Dilgar and Humans were up and lunging with their rifles at the ready, charging the distance behind a follow-up curtain of four more grenades crashing down, the fragments of their own explosions flecking off the armour worn under their civilian clothes.

As they cleared the little earthen parapet, there was no time to stop and communicate. The first of the troopers, the Dilgar corporal Tir’mar, levelled his rifle and held the trigger as a continuous stream of charges swept the Tal Shiar knocked about in the dirt of the position. A moment later nothing was moving.

Daria led her troop up and down, swinging through the grass at a dead run. By the house, bodies toppled with blood flying as an invisible blade sliced through veins and arteries and severed hands from arms, hard-by to the burning wreck of the Ute. One of the remaining Tal Shiar, throwing caution for her allies to the wind, raised a disruptor on wide beam, full-charge, at the invisible figure’s rough position.

The Agent never caught a chance to fire; there was a single, even to a Dorei barely audible, dull flat crack from the woods down by the creek. The Tal Shiar woman toppled and Fei’nur finished the remainder of their opposition.

Daria raised her hand in a universal stop gesture as one of the Dilgar started to raise a rifle to the figure that emerged from the woods with an old-style wooden stock, scoped hunting piece, the bulged graymetal tank at the back showing that it was pneumatic. A tiny tritanium tank could store plenty of air.

There was a profound silence over the little battlefield. Only the roaring of the barn fire interrupted it, and that guaranteed that any lesser noise like the moaning of the wounded, if there were any, was unheard. They had fought for easily ten or fifteen minutes without any result, and then in the space of a minute the entire thing had been decided. That was battle, farcical and cautious in one turn and a bloodthirsty feast of death in another, and then, silence. Eternities for tension, and brief moments for the killing, often absolutely lopsided when decided.

The figure that had come out of the wooded verge of the creek was now close enough to be made out. She wore farmer’s clothes and a rifle slung confidently over the shoulder, with a long wave of dark hair loosely pulled back.

Arterus let out a cry of pure joy and relief, though he did not start down the hill or otherwise break ranks.

Lial t’Rllaillieu raised her hand in a solemn salute and spoke in Rihan. “ _Hail, cousin! The Elements laugh with your timing, who is your fair-speckled friend of a foreign star?”_

Arterus safed his rifle and slung it over a shoulder. “Lieutenant Daria Seldayiv, cousin, the Tactical officer of the  _Huáscar._ ”

Daria was for a moment distracted by the fleeting remains of life in the wounded, before her head snapped around. “Your Highness. Arterus said he needed some help.”

“He did,” the Rihannsu heir agreed with a coy smile, “And I am thankful this help took the form of a squad of such crack shots. But you have a friend…”

“...It is secure now,” Fei’nur said, shimmering into existence near them.

“..With a personal cloaking device. May I have an introduction?”

“Battlemaster Fei’nur, an Aide-de-Camp to the Dilgar Warmaster,” Arterus offered.

“And your Marine Colonel,” Lial laughed, “I did read your letters. But I understand the desire not to link this overmuch to the Alliance. Shall we be going?”

“Cousin, what of your…”

“Let’s go, not enough time, we lack nothing,” she interrupted him gently.

Fei’nur nodded, looking pleased. “It is time to go. Lieutenant Seldayiv, Corporal Angusson and your fireteam, cover the rest of us.” She activated her omnitool as Daria paused, then waved her hand and moved away to create separation between the two groups.

“Seven to beam up.”

 


	5. Act 5

# Act 5

 

 _Heermann_ returned ahead of the rest of the ships, alone. She decloaked in the outer system and broadcast her recognition codes. This of course generated some real excitement, though the ship appeared undamaged. Commander Imra moved quickly to squash it, contacting Zhen’var directly and immediately.

Captain Zhen’var fielded the message from her sea cabin. “Commander Imra. Report.”

“We found an Orion _Wanderer-_ class ‘galleon’ type. The Klingons attacked without warning, so we followed to support our allies out of necessity. I arranged care in disabling the ship to avoid injuries to any innocents aboard. We found five hundred and sixty-two slaves on boarding, there were probably more who were disintegrated by the Orions to hide their crimes, but that will have to wait for the forensics.”

Zhen’var was straight up in her chair, eyes unblinking, expression rigid. “Where are the slaves and the Klingons, Commander?”

“Lieutenant Veeringen was able to repair her warp drive, so I placed L’tenant Ca’elia in command of a detached party with orders to bring her back, Ma’am. The Klingons are escorting with their slower warp drives. Since our main duty is defending this world, I hastened ahead to resume guard duties. The freed slaves are aboard the _Wanderer,_ for want of any better ship for that many. We placed the captives, there are a total of eighty-two, in their own slave pens for security on transport and to eliminate the risk of a rising against the L’tenant by the former crew. Thirty-eight of the Orion’s crew were killed in the operation. We took four wounded, no fatalities. The Klingons didn’t report their casualties to me.”

“Very well, and thank you,” Zhen’var answered. She quickly brought Commander Krodak up on a split screen. “Commander, our combined forces were victorious. The _Heermann_ supplied a prize crew for the Orion slaver and your squadron is intact and returning with her. Commander Imra just chose to race ahead in case we came under attack by the Nazi Reich, to see properly to the defence of Geisling.”

“Ah, as our best hopes!” Krodak roared. “Very good then, well fought, Commander Imra.” He clapped his hands together. “Captain Zhen’var, what of the prize, then?”

“Well, she is under one of my L’tenants.”

“But we provided the most ships for her capture.”

Zhen’var smiled toothily. “Well, here. We will meet face to face when she has arrived, and all the slaves are off of her and put safely ashore to Geisling, and then we will figure out her disposition.”

“Very well. I will trust your honour to keep the ship in the system until then. Qapla’!”

The second screen blinked off, and Abebech shook her head and the two exchanged a grin. “What exactly are you planning, Captain?”

“Oh, let me try to make it happen before I tell you, Commander.”

  
  
  


The little freighter returned to its home on Geisling without further trouble, though to avoid Geisling customs and biases regarding Rihannsu causing trouble for the Princess, she was beamed to the _Huáscar_ first. Zhen’var greeted her personally in the transporter room.

“Captain Zhen’var,” the woman said. “Permission to come aboard?” She stood there, with her raven-dark hair now loose, her eyes sharp and thoughtful, her skin pale-to-olivine, wearing a farmer’s jean-jacket and an old set of pinstriped heavy riding trousers, with a blouse under the jacket that might have once been under the jacket of a Rihannsu uniform. She was medium-tall with a sharp look, making no pretence about her Vulcanoid ears.

Even dusty and with several days in the same clothes, dressed like a country farmer back home or one of those inhabiting countless of the remote agricultural planets of the Triangle, she was immensely regal.

“Permission granted,” Zhen’var answered with a sharp salute. “Your Majesty.”

“Highness, let us not pretend I have ever sat the throne,” Lial t’Rllaillieu answered. “You have my great affection for permitting my cousin to rescue me. I had hoped that would be my home for… If necessary, as long as I lived. But the Tal Shiar were not willing to permit me the peace and quiet.

“From what I understand of their reputation, they are nothing if not persistent, and a rightful title is the same, no matter who bears best claim to it.” The Dilgar woman replied, calm in the face of the rebuke. “It does not serve Alliance interests for that line to fail, in my opinion. “You have freedom of the ship, with the usual caveats.”

“Forgive me for being so blunt, Captain. I… A replicator ration would also be appreciated,” she offered. “I am not sure what I will do next, truth be told. I wanted to live with other Rihannsu to keep my spirit close to the people of my mother and father, the people I ought to rule. But it is clear I could bring to them only war and death with such a vanity.”

“There are some you should talk to, but before that… you have arrived just in time for an effort to give my crew some recreation from our operations tempo. I would be gratified if you would consent to come yourself.”

“Thank you, Captain. I am honoured.”

  
  
  
  


The next morning, the Orion prize arrived in the system. Showing the scars of her capture, she hove to after broadcasting recognition codes, and stood between Commander Krodak’s D-7 and the _Huáscar_ in orbit.

Ca’elia commed the _Huáscar_ to report her arrival. Elia was on the watch on the other side. “Go ahead, Leftenant.”

“Ma’am, Alliance vessel _Far Star_ under prize crew, requesting permission to enter orbit!” The newness and excitement still had not faded. “My details are on subchannel.”

“Confirming standard orbit… Now. We are receiving subchannel,” Elia replied. “Leftenant, Geisling Central Starport transporters will be directly coordinating transport of the Liberated to hospitals and halfway houses in the capital which have reserved bed space for evaluations and caregiving. Please organise with them accordingly.”

“Understood, Commander! I will begin at once!”

“When the transports are complete, prepare the prize crew for transfer and bring the ship to standby. You will report aboard and give a full account of your independent command to Captain Zhen’var at that time.” Informally, Elia raised her hand in salute.

“Ma’am!” Ca’elia returned it reflexively, then blinked off the pickup before she could realise she’d done it.

Elia looked at the screen for a minute and smiled fondly. “That woman is going places…”

  
  
  
  
  


Fei’nur, Daria and Arterus were in the Mess after returning to the ship when Lial arrived. As the Captain’s guest she required permission, but Arterus rose to give it the moment he saw his cousin, and the Petty Officer in charge waved her in. She was wearing proper Rihannsu dress, practical breeches and broad-shouldered coat, for a lady of class relaxing for the evening in the company of others.

“Thank you for the kindness, officers,” she offered before moving to sit with her cousin.

“Oh, I could have let you in even if they didn’t wish it,” Arterus said with a flicker of a smile.

“Perhaps, but it wouldn’t have been wise,” she nodded to Fei’nur with a bit of an insouciant grin.

“I let the Navy defend the honour of their mess.” The colonel gave a nod of acknowledgement as flicker of amusement crossed her face, then she nonchalantly picked up another kebab.

“Well, I am a naval officer, though at the moment without a ship or a country,” Lial replied ruefully.

“One lack is easier to repair than the other, Your Majesty.” Fei’nur replied, after finishing her first bite. “Neither is impossible.”

“It’s so.” She drummed her fingers for a moment. “I’ve heard of a universe where mercenaries are in high demand, for piloting giant robots. Perhaps I should head there, though it grieves my heart to think a Rllaillieu should be selling her sword.”

“You are a naval officer. To sell your sword for _venal_ reasons, as those people fight in their robot suits, that, if you will permit the presumption, does not seem to satisfy mnhei’sahe. Dilgar, when we were weak, had our officers sell their swords to the Centauri, to gain knowledge, wealth, what we needed to gain strength relative to others. We serve with the Alliance in our weakness now. Are we untrue to ourselves in so doing?”

“No, you are not, Battlemaster. You also seem to imply there’s something better for me. Or at least that I shouldn’t join such a company.”

“I do, and I think it would be unwise. It is a pity we cannot arrange you taking the _Far Star._ ”

“...The _Far Star_ ? Is that the Orion you took for slaving?” Lial’s eyes looked up. “A _Wanderer_ is not a poor ship, properly handled. The repairs would be expensive. I would need a crew…”

“There are many Rihannsu on the surface of Geisling who, though the human government has reformed, still feel left out of its society,” Arterus offered to his cousin, his voice growing low and thoughtful. “You might find more, faster, than you expect.”

“I have had an idea, haven’t I?” Fei’nur blinked. “You would need to acquire title to the ship and a contract to allow repairs, if the crew can be found.”

“The Captain and Commander Krodak haven’t agreed to who gets the ship yet,” Daria remarked. “Fei’nur, do you want to tell the Captain about this idea…?”

“That I am suggesting she give up her prize money?” For a moment, Fei’nur had a flicker of horror on her face at the idea, though it faded. Zhen’var was not an old-school Dilgar captain. “I believe I should, but it will go better if she is more familiar with Her Majesty. She is very much one for personal touches, our captain.”

“Then I’ll ask for a meeting after this…” She squinted. “Was the translator broken? Steel beach party?”

“A human custom. Think of it as a gathering for the crew aboard some open space on ship. Steel replaces the sand of a party on the shoreline. There will also be loud music and the inanity of the lower deck.”

“Oh, but we’ll have to go.” She got a grin.

“For different reasons, yes. A bit yet, still. I am sure Lieutenant Ca’elia will keep a good watch over _Far Star_ until then.”

  
  
  
  
  


A few days after the arrival of the _Far Star_ at Geisling, with the security situation relaxed to Readiness Posture Delta, the Marine operations hangar deck had been radically transformed for a very special occasion. A large number of temporary partitions had been set up into changing rooms. A group of a dozen HESCO bastions had been set up. The modern kind, using ballistic ceramoplastics, were waterproof, and these were the largest size, making lovely deep-water splash pools.

There was an Xtreme Dancing holo-pad, and a band cuing up on a stage. A massive line of smokers, BBQ grills and frying pans on field kitchen hot plates had been set up along one wall, with assault transports used to delineate lines. A huge holoprojected movie was playing on the closed clamshell doors. A designated zero-G area had been provided, and a couple of rings for martial arts demonstrations. All uniform regulations had been abandoned within the space, and Chief Dugan’s ‘Temperance Squad’ of people who didn’t drink for cultural or religious reasons under Chief Héen was cuing up to serve the others beers, with a line… Presently about 300 long.

It was time for the Steel Beach Party.

Fei’nur could feel her future headache already gathering in the back of her head, as she saw the Captain, standing back and overseeing the affair. _Someone_ had to be responsible, after all.

And then Nah’dur wandered up. She was wearing shorts and a massive T-shirt about five sizes too large which declared her to possess ‘CAT PRIDE’ in English, as well as massive superstar sunglasses. “FEI’NUR!” She waved over the budding cacophony of noise.

 _Oh gods…_ “Yes, Nah’dur…?” She kept one eye on the crowd, and the other on the young surgeon.

“...Do you want to get in the MEAT LINE with me? They’re barbequing, well, everything!” Nah’dur grinned brilliantly.

“You are _far_ too exuberant…” Still, she moved to stand in the queue, head pivoting about to track the whole compartment.

Elia was standing with Zhen’var with this bemused grin on her face, watching it all. There were fairly large hordes of crewers in bathing suits or shorts, now carrying beers as the Temperance Squad was pushed to the limit in dispensing them. The band had struck up classical Earth rock. Several games of volleyball had started.

Elia watched for a moment and saw one of the teams was short. “..Do you mind if I take my leave, Captain?” Her civilian clothes were trim and athletic, but still up there with the Muslimahs in modesty, a habit of a telepath woman that could never leave her.

“No, go ahead Commander, I will be fine.” She smiled slightly and cast her gaze over out her crew. “They are settling down well enough.”

“It’s exactly what we needed!” Elia laughed and tipped a salute, before charging onto the matting for the volleyball court. She counted in with a raised glove, and then immediately lunged into action. Commander Saumarez was enormously physical as befit a crack batswoman in cricket, and she wasn’t bad at _volleyball,_ either, making a perfect diving dig to knock the ball back into play and then lunging easily into the mix of the team that had needed help. She needed a warm-up anyway, the Cricket was going to start in another thirty minutes…

Zhen’var shook her head at the exuberance. It had been a _very_ long while since she had been the same, now..

As she shook her head, around her, the tables were filling up with humans and Dilgar sitting together, eating BBQ together. Smoked fish, deep fried fish, deep fried birds, BBQ’d birds… Hamburgers and sausages galore. The Dilgar mostly had a kind of innocent wonder that they were getting such an amazing party on a warship while serving in the Navy, tucking in as they drank and the ice was broken.

Chief Dugan wandered up to her grinning, a massive pair of Ray-Bans concealing his eyes but the grin left no doubt of how pleased he was. A Chief’s intimidation factor meant he couldn’t exactly ‘let his hair down’ all the way… But instead of his uniform he was wearing a pair of blue jeans, a Stihl chainsaw branded baseball cap, and a threadbare service mechanic’s work shirt that declared he was a Certified ElecTrek Fuel Cell Tech. He was holding a Sam Adams Boston Lager bottle in one hand. “Looks like we’re knocking it out of the park, Captain.”

“Agreed, Chief. It is going very well, as long as it stays that way, we will have to make this a semi-regular feature of regular or sudden deployments.” She kept her tone professional - still always the poised Captain, even here.

“You got it, ma’am. Look, it’s about 50/50 on Dilgar and humans at every table. No clustering.” He was _proud_ of that. The meat helped, so did the beer, but it was still _happening._ The conversations might in some cases be as awkward as hell, but they were conversations. The cover band had a Dilgar drummer using a Dilgar set to improvise the beat for the human singer’s valiant best attempt to pull off Sammy Hagar.

“I am not nearly drunk enough to think that _sounds good_ , however…”

“Heh. You probably haven’t had anything yet, Ma’am,” he chuckled, and then glanced over, possibly in a bit of surprise, to see Anna Poniatowska using one of the rings to demonstrate traditional steppe sword-dancing.

“And things like _that_ are why I will not. Carry on, Chief!” She’d use the excuse to move off, wanting _all_ of her crew to _enjoy_ themselves. This would be a hard enough deployment already.

And then there was quite the commotion. Humans and non-humans, people had been enjoying the HESCO Bastion pools. Jumping in, splashing around, using squirt guns, diving underwater and paddling around in the relatively small horizontal dimensions. But no Dilgar. Dilgar, generally, did not like intentionally getting wet.

Then a Dilgar woman with ashen silver-gray fur exploded out of the changing room area, dashing up to one of the Bastions and the temporary platform around it with a happy shout of delight. She promptly cannonballed into it, splashing the general area. Everyone was laughing.

Human guys were laughing and pointing. “That was awesome, look at how she ran, damn, she must love water!”

Dilgar, on the other hand, looked on in a mixture of awe and shock.

Lieutenant Ca’elia was laughing softly as she moved towards the Bastion with a far more sedate pace, a wrap around her swimsuit underneath. She grinned at her Captain as she passed. “My sister, Aur’ma, displays the usual love of an Islander for water.” Emerald eyes shone in challenge as she climbed up the platform set beside the pool and slipped in herself. “Gods, Aur’ma, how do you always get me into swimming!?”

“Because it’s _fun,_ and you like boats anyway!” Aur’ma laughed. “Come on, sis. It’s _deep,_ so we can dive!”

Smiling hugely, Ca’elia pushed her red hair back with a hand and dove under the surface, surfacing quick enough to launch herself back onto the side deck. It was settled; the Dilgar were in the HESCO ‘pools’ too...

Will came up to Zhen’var next. As the crew’s ‘dad’, he had put a lot of the behind the scenes effort into coordinating with Chief Dugan to organise the event. However, in honour of the festivities, he was wearing a ‘Hawaiian shirt’ someone had provided him along with his own pair of Ray-Bans. “Well, the good news is that Chief Héen doesn’t even require supervision, she’s keeping the Temperance Squad doling ‘em out by the book,” he noted softly. “Not like I really doubted that. She struck me as taking the job really seriously for personal reasons.”

“Cultural and personal both, I would say. You seem quite comfortable, Commander.” She herself was still wearing a uniform, even if it was the field rig, as comfortable as one could get while still within the regulations.

“Well, yeah. It’s an occasion I really haven’t known since…” He trailed off. Since the destruction of his homeworld, of course. In that, Will shared more with the Dilgar than other humans. “I might do some of that ‘field improvised lawn bowling’ later, but Elia’s going to _kill_ at that, by all accounts.”

“Cricket? Or lawn bowling? Either way, yes, she rather will. I am one of the few on the ship that _might_ be able to come remotely close, if I was younger.”

“Oh, Cricket is just hopeless, that’s really ‘Elia shows the crew she’s a pro’,” Will grinned. “I was talking about the lawn bowling.”

“Then I fall back on my ‘might if I were younger’, Commander.” The Captain smiled back, letting out a soft sigh. “Good enough.”

Over at one of the tables, Violeta was eating across from Lial t’Rllaillieu and Arterus. The two had assembled a reasonable approximation of a proper Rihannsu meal from the selection. Violeta wasn’t sure quite what to say; Sirians didn’t have Royalty.

“I confess, Lieutenant, that though I remembered my Grandaunt’s stories of the Federationers, I had never quite expected to see a sight like this, ever. I am also fascinated since the _by and large_ calm dourness of the Dilgar in appreciating their food seems quite unlike the reputation of most felinoids here. Their Imperium was as a legend.”

“A dark legend, err, Your Highness,” Violeta answered. “This is the Captain’s way of getting the crew to bond. And I think it works well. I was used to, well, holodecks and other things you’d probably call ‘federationer’...”

“You would be correct, Lieutenant,” Lial allowed a faint bemused smile.

“...Though so, Your Highness. Well, Dilgar culture is stricter and Captain Zhen’var’s own customs more military. But there’s sincere camaraderie in this, in making everyone be _together._ Noisy, though.”

Princess Lial laughed. “Fairly met on both points. You were one of the famous Aurorans, were you not?”

Violeta couldn’t help a blush, even with the dark colour of her skin it showed through. “That seems excessive. Yes, I served on the _Aurora._ Has our story already spread that far?”

“It took only three five year missions for the first _Enterprise_ to become a legend as few others… But her name was already known to friend and foe after the first under Captain April. So, yes, you have made your name, known to friend and foe.”

“Good evening, Your Highness.” Captain Zhen’var’s voice broke through the noise around them, the woman holding a glass of water as she made her rounds. “Is all well?”

“I would say so,” Lial looked up, resting a hand tenderly on her cousin’s shoulder for a moment to reassure or assuage him of the impulse to rise for his commander. “You have made a wonderful ship here, and a wonderful hour for your crew. I admit, I can see how these silly, wild moments lead to the beautiful grim scenes of the paintings in the wardroom, though the course is one alien to a Rihannsu conception.”

“Alien to those who knew the old ways of the Dilgar Imperium as well. I am contented to see you safely away from your foes. Was there anything else you need of _Huáscar_?”

“Possibly a ride to another universe,” Lial said wryly, and perhaps even glumly. “I must go further afield, it seems. I am four years Arterus’ elder and had more experience in the Starfleet, but it pains my heart sore to think of myself as a mercenary, surely that is no good fate for a woman ‘born to the purple’ as the humans would say. Your officers have said it depends on the cause, and that is wise; I will let Mnhei’sahe guide me and not fear too much about these other matters.” She paused, and decided honesty mattered. “I admit, I am a Captain, I could use a ship.”

“To take service under foreign colours in exile is no mercenary thing, Your Highness. Dilgar and human culture alike has tales of such people, some weaving very grand tales indeed. I am sponsoring another woman in a similar state to the Alliance service, in fact.”

“I would like to talk to her, if I could be introduced for a correspondence?” Lial asked. “I shall take your wisdom under advisement. That you follow Mnhei’sahe one has little doubt.”

“I shall do so, Your Highness.” Zhen’var inclined her head fractionally. “I thank you for the compliment.” She said nothing about the ship, and Lial regretted having brought it up.

“You are most welcome. Ah, but here,” she added, pushing her largely empty plate aside. “Captain Zhen’var, I do believe your Operations Officer is setting up to play her most unusual game. Arterus told me she could have been a professional in it, if the humans of her world had not prevented her caste from such occupations.”

“I shall leave you to it. Commander Saumarez is _very_ skilled at this.” Zhen’var inclined her head again, and moved off to observe the room and Elia’s performance. _So far, so good._

“Oh, I am coming to watch it too, Captain. One last request of you?”

“Yes?”

“May we meet tomorrow?”

Zhen’var quickly glanced through her Omnitool. “Yes, at fourteen hundred, Your Highness. I will put it in.” She waved, and then turned her attention to Elia.

If it wasn’t for the discrimination of the Earth Alliance, Elia could have played women’s professional cricket--that much, nobody in the audience doubted after she made it brutally clear again and again, her hair pulled back neatly under her helmet, her eyes intense, gloves ready on the bat. The game proper lasted a while, but not that long; she focused on teaching interested newcomers after that with the help of the other cricketeers, because the mismatch was too much to keep playing!

Zhen’var internally cursed the need to keep the captain’s mask up - she had always been a better bowler than striker, and possibly the only person on the crew who might not be _completely_ overmatched by Elia, but she’d passed the years where it would have been acceptable to jump in serving on Babylon 5.

Elia looked at her chrono and then stepped away, and over to Zhen’var’s side. She was sweaty but brilliantly confident and calm. “I need to go get ready to take the watch. Abebech should be done shortly when her watch on the bridge is over.”

“Very well, you stand dismissed, Commander. Very good work there; I would not stand much chance in single wicket against you, I rather think.”

“...I think you’re being modest, Captain. I’d love to try sometime.” She tipped a salute. “I’m just glad for the opportunity.” There was real feeling in that, until she had come to the Alliance she had never played sport against Mundanes.

“Someday on leave, when there is not a rest of the crew around. Go on, I shall keep an eye on everything.”

“Thank you.” Elia headed out, with the event continuing.

A little while later, Abebech Imra arrived, in a stunning gray-blue dress with a multicoloured scarf around the waist, and her curly hair seeming to occupy a vast space behind and below her head, not high like an Afro, but hanging low and yet possessing enormous volume. She had a _guitar case_ slung over one shoulder, and wore long white opera gloves and her characteristic sunglasses.

The Captain’s eyes had gone wide indeed, as she gave a sheepish wave in greeting. _How can one woman have so much hair hidden so well normally!_

Abebech waved back, and offered a slight smile, as she wandered over to a corner, sitting down with her back resting on one of the assault transports, far from the noisy stage. She soon attracted a small, curious group, and strumming her guitar with finger-picks only, began to sing. It was the first time Zhen’var could remember seeing Abebech do something that wasn’t related to her duty at some level; a pure, innocent form of enjoyment.

Quietly slipping behind one of the transports, she just _listened_ , while overseeing the rest of the bay. _Somehow, I had not expected a guitar._

“... _And I think of you now, as a dream that I had long ago; in a Kingdom lost to time, the Archer is bending a bow; and I see you bring him bread and wine…”_ Her playing had an ethereal, haunting delicacy, which the strength of her voice overlaid and completed the song.

“ _Oh, who would walk the stony roads of Merlin’s time; and keep the watch upon the border-line…”_

She looked to Zhen’var and smiled when she finished. “I like old songs, of almost any sort, Captain.”

“That was _beautiful_ , Commander.” She bowed her head. “A beautiful display of the bardic art, truly. Folk music, I assume?”

“In a sense. A pop-rock singer with strong connections to the folk movement from the twentieth century. Though that’s one of his.. Folkier songs. Or was. I’m not sure he’s alive in any universe, though he might be. There are a lot of universes.”

“It might be worth checking. A chance to see a live performance that never will be seen again is always a worthy thing. Thank you for coming, Commander.”

“...You are quite right. And quite welcome. It’s a lovely evening.” Abebech watched the Captain wander off, and then struck up a brighter tune on the request of one of those in her little audience. She’d just have to make sure her helmswoman didn’t know she could sing _Admiral William Brown._

  
  
  
  
  


The Steel Beach Party lasted for about another ninety minutes after Zhen’var’s conversation with Abebech. As soon as it ended, Chief Héen organised the crews that broke out to clean up the bay.

Once everything was well in hand, with a yawn, the Captain would depart, with a wave of thanks to the Chief - she’d have to write up a mention in her dispatches for that, she thought. Zhen’var was lost in thought as she walked the decks, half on autopilot as she headed straight for her cabin. It had been a _long_ night.

There were no more alerts, no more activities. Just a chance to rest. It was with a very grateful sigh the woman pulled off her jacket and moved to climb into her new hammock to rest, letting it rock gently as she looked off at the viewscreen that replaced a viewing port. Reflexively, though with a groan, she reached for her personal datapad. _Just check urgent messages before bed, that’s all…_

There were the usual messages people at Personnel or Financial or some other rear area org passed off as being important but really weren’t. _You know, if everyone marks all the messages as important, they all go right to the junk folder… oh well, a fact of life, I suppose._ She deleted another marked “HOT! IMPORTANT! READ!” from someone in Operations Support with a sigh.

Then she flicked the screen over to her personal account, just on the slightest urge of curiosity. So far in the past week, there had been nothing except for the birthday greetings and spam. Tonight, however, when she loaded the inbox, she saw the hokey name of her dating site in block Dilgar script. _You have a private message_!

With visible trepidation, Zhen’var would squirm a bit in her hammock before pressing ‘Open’.

_Hi! I saw your profile and I wanted to reach out. I work in the fleet, too, at Arta’kar Reserve Depot. You seem really cute and pretty intellectual, it’s a nice combination. We should work out a time to talk soon!_

Her profile picture showed a somewhat dashing looking Dilgar woman maybe a half-decade younger in mufti including a long coat.

 _You must be rather busy recently, then. Let me know when you are available, and I will see if I have a mutually acceptable time free_. It was short, but her fingers still trembled fractionally when Zhen’var hit ‘Send Reply’.

A moment later, before she could turn the screen off, an answer flashed back. _I’m about to go onto duty, but maybe three days from now at 16:00 OCT? It’s neat that you got back to me so quickly! I can’t wait to hear more about you._ The Dilgar Navy still ran on Ogkharin Coordinated Time.

 _See you then._ Zhen’var flopped back with a huge smile on her face. _It’s a video date! This is so cheesy, like a holonovela!_

The sun shall also rise; the quiet patrol duties of a thousand ships went on, as the day slowly resumed in an Alliance a little wiser, and a little warier, than on the day that Gersal had burned. And the ASV _Huáscar_ swung in orbit as the Queen of the Triangle, with state rivals and slavers properly intimidated, and little children looking up at her with telescopes. Captain Zhen’var curled up and went to sleep, to wait for another day and another star.

  
  
  
  


The next day, the door trilled for her cabin. In the morning she had finally successfully deactivated the computer’s announcement feature again, but she knew who it was anyway. Lial t’Rllaillieu was standing there when she opened the door.

“Your Highness. Please, come and sit.”

Lial moved to one side of the desk, and smiled faintly.

“Anything to drink?”

“Khavas, please. Your replicators are marvelous, I am sure they do a good enough job.”

“Of course.” Her usual chai followed, and she set her mug on the desk, placing the other in front of Lial, before moving to sit. “What may I do for you? Did you enjoy our efforts at giving the crew a recreation opportunity?”

“They are a wild lot, but also honest and cheerful. I could tell that you were attempting to reconcile the Dilgar and the Humans to each other; it seemed successful, Captain,” she answered with a bemused smile. “Also rather loud, but it was exactly as you promised, the enthusiasm of the lower deck.”

“Better than it could be.” She gave a visible small shrug, focusing her gaze on the Romulan woman across from her.

“I wish to apologise again for my curtness with the titles,” Lial offered after a moment, between sips of khavas. “I was trying to offer some of the Federationer’s relaxed style toward titles of dignity and rank, out of an assumption. I did not mean to cause offence.”

“The old Imperium was… extremely focused on the externals of such things. While the Union is more relaxed than it was, we are very much more formal than the Alliance as a whole. It was not a bad assumption for any _other_ ship in the Navy.”

“Dilgar and Rihannsu seem to have more measures in common. Certainly more than you share with Klingons,” she answered. “So, Captain, what is to become of me?”

“I am not sure. I have not submitted my report as yet, my superiors are unaware of your presence, but it is unsafe for you to return whence you came.” She idly ran the tip of a gloved finger along her desk. “I seem to have a habit of finding women in situations such as yours.”

“It is very unsafe, and I am grateful. If I had a means of carrying on my trade with some dignity, I would leave this universe to avoid causing you diplomatic problems,” she answered. “Does that… Help?”

“The last went to take Alliance service, as she had…” Zhen’var paused. “We restored her brother, but she had been on the opposing side of the war. It does help, I certainly am willing to - personally - assist you in traveling where you wish. You have personally done nothing to deserve such dogged pursuit.”

“I will take passage to anywhere reasonable, but inevitably to support myself I must become a mercenary. I should not like the dishonour of fighting for small things in one of those universes like the Inner Sphere, but I will take it if I must. Mnhei’sahe dictates as much that I am not useless as that my profession is honourable, and if the Prince I serve is a good one, it is better than taking poison. To be blunt.”

“There are plenty of good, worthy causes. Some can even afford those who come to fight for them, it is true. Humanity and the Dilgar have examples of each. Do you have any idea what sort of cause you _would_ wish to fight for?”

“Well, I…” She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “I already owe my life to a human troubador of a sort. She arranged Arterus and I’s escape from the Star Empire. Her name … She just had us call her Charlotte Corday. I don’t think she could have been a Federationer, not in the slightest. She was dignified, brave, always had a song, and seemed possessed of some real resources. Also such unusual colouring that at first I did not think she was a human--it was  not a colour I’ve ever seen on another human.”

“That is an _interesting_ choice of code name. I also doubt anyone from the Federation would ever use it as their _nom de guerre_ ,” Zhen’var answered with interest.

“Does it have some significance?” Lial was curious, now.

“The only nation I know with a ship named after her is the Aururian Empire. When, in most histories of Earth, the French revolted against their King and aristocracy, and murdered most of them, the movement was riven. She sympathized with the moderates, believed the King should not have been executed. Jean-Paul Marat was one of the radicals, who was uncompromising in his desire to kill the royalist prisoners the republic held - so she gained audience with him, then stabbed him to death in the bath. She has been a heroine under the restorations and empires, and an enemy under the republics. It is, shall I say, an excellent _nom de guerre_ for a royalist sympathizer.”

“That makes sense. She sang a song of Kings when she left my presence. I should like to fight as Mnhei’sahe dictates, Captain. That is what truly governs my responsibilities. I think she followed Mnhei’sahe in her own way. She had the most remarkable colouration, these red-purple eyes and wonderful ashen silver white-blonde hair.”

“Hm. I have only seen colouration like that before in Dilgar, and few and far between at that. A few rumours of another group, too.” Zhen’var took another sip of her chai, pondering that odd bit of information, before making a noncommittal noise. “Princess Fiy’jash and her people, really. Ensign Aur’ma is one of them.”

“I had thought it might be a human albino, at first.”

“Doubtful, but a curiosity, I suppose, if it was not dye and lenses. The other group I know of would never _help_ anyone.”

“Other group, Captain?”

“They are this… _horrifying_ group, a ruling class in another universe. They… do things to espers, telepaths, I would rather not speak of.” Zhen’var grimaced. “ _And_ they sponsor a vast multi-versal slaving network to keep up their… supply.”

“Any population, no matter how vile in the main, may yet contain the righteous, Captain. Don’t you agree?” Lial answered thoughtfully, craning her head to the side and swirling her cup, a finger setting her hair back into place.

“I do. How could anyone moral ever think otherwise? Change needs to come from within to be truly lasting, after all.” The captain was regarding her guest carefully. _Is she leading somewhere…?_

“Let me see if I can arrange for you to contact her, so you can at least find out, then,” Lial answered. “If she is one of those people, she has certainly moved beyond the immorality you speak of. Technically, after all, Rihannsu are espers, too.”

“I would not be un-amenable. Certainly, I am… in something of a dual role, Battlemaster and Captain alike. Thank you, Your Highness.” Smiling, Zhen-var drained the last of her teacup.

“You are welcome. ...What preparations shall I make, then?” She added, softly.

The Dilgar woman smiled, and started to rise. “Enjoy your time with your cousin, Highness. I will tell you tomorrow.”

  
  
  
  


As promised, Commander Krodak arrived to discuss the _Far Star_ with her. He was shown in by Lieutenant Seldayiv, and strode forward in the _Huáscar_ ’s Ready Room, presenting a flagon of bloodwine. “For a successful operation, Captain Zhen’var,” Krodak inclined his head. “We have not had many opportunities to blood our young warriors since the war with the Cardassians ended.”

“And the Dilgar have had too many. Thank you, Commander, it is accepted in the spirit it is given. In turn, to honored allies, a flagon of _ish’la’fran._ ” That it had been confiscated from the lower deck did not need to be known, it was the best of the rotgut they had aboard, and the only thing strong enough for Klingons to regard as any but water.

“ _Ish’la’fran,_ ” he repeated carefully, regarding it. “Honour to you, Captain. We will drink it as we sing our songs of battle. So. How shall we dispose of the _Far Star,_ as the Orions called her?” Klingons, at least, got down to the point.

“Well, I have a few ideas. If we sell her off through the Admiralty Court, there is the matter with prize money, the same for seizing her directly, and how to divide the two. Despite her damage, she is still a good ship, and I had been speculating as to what we could do with her to most hurt our foes. I have a few ideas.”

“What shared enemies do we have, Captain? These Nazis? The Cardassians? The Romulans? Unfortunately, we did not fight side by side.” He grunted. “The house might commission her, but really, we would not want an Orion ship. The prize would be appreciated, but a blow against rivals would be better still. Tell me who and tell me how, Captain.”

For a moment, she debated building the matter up more, then decided against it. “I have a descendant of Ael t’Rllaillieu aboard. The head of that house, for that matter. The Tal Shiar keep trying to kill her, she intends to leave this universe and take up her sword for causes of honour. She needs a ship. _Far Star_ seems a good enough start, and if she does well enough in gaining renown and power...” Zhen’var trailed off, not needing to explain further the consequences for the regime on Romulus.

“You want me to give the ship to a descendant of _Ael of the Bloodwing_?” His eyes widened and he laughed. “She was as few others, a legend of the stars, but the Romulans were unworthy of her reign.”

“I know two of the current generation. I think the last two. They _are_ worthy of the name.”

He chuckled and rubbed his chin. “It _would_ discomfit the Romulan government greatly, likely more than anything else we could do with such a ship.”

“I am glad you agree. Battlemaster Fei’nur came up with the idea, with a former lower-deck woman’s grasp of the intuitive path. We are in agreement, then?”

The Klingon Commander paused, as if he had just been outmanoeuvred and wasn’t quite sure how. Then he nodded. “The Battlemaster is a true warrior. There is no question her read is right. So, there will be no sharing--the Alliance gets nothing? But I will give the ship to this t’Rllaillieu?”

“I acknowledge the ship as taken by your warriors, you will give the ship, I will give a value in repairs and supplies equal to her base salvage so we both suffer equal loss, Commander.”

“Well met, Captain! I would have done it without the offer. You will tell your commanders it was to support my readiness while we were helping you guard Geisling?” He looked at her sharply, no fool.

“One great advantage of the Klingon system is less paperwork and bureaucracy. In a manner of speaking, it is even true.” She bared her teeth in a dangerous-looking grin.

“Ha!” He clapped a fist to his chest. “You have my word, Captain. Let us watch the Tal Shiar howl!”

“You will forgive me for not singing _yljaH, Qey’ ‘oH_ , I hope. Dilgar vocal systems are not well designed for it.”

“I have heard your own motto is ‘Harm’s way is the valiant way’,” he answered, and looked up to the picture of Captain Grau. “Your human forbearers on _Huáscar_ have known it well too. It has been good to stand with you over Geisling. May we meet again soon for a true battle, a great one. That, I should like to see.”

“If the Alliance continues on her current path, that will be soon enough indeed. Strike true until we meet again, Commander.”

“Qapla’, Battlemaster!” He rose, and tipped his head to the picture of Grau. “Qapla’, _Huáscar_!”

  


**Tag**

  


A young woman in the crisp blue uniform of the Alliance Stellar Navy’s Fighter Corps made the traditional request at the transporter room to the Chief. “Permission to come aboard?” She presented her identicard.

“Granted, Flight Lieutenant. Report to Captain Zhen’var’s ready room.”

“Understood!” she nearly leapt to attention to salute, but stopped herself with a twitch of her hand and a wry grin.

“Your things will be waiting in your quarters, reference ARQ-15e in your omnitool for the final assignment. Welcome to the _Huáscar,_ Lieutenant… Hope you know, she’s the fightingest ship in the fleet!”

“Oh, I know,” the blonde woman grinned insouciantly, and headed for one of the turbolifts. Her training had become immeasurably more exciting with the attacks in the middle of it, and without those, she would still be in the middle of training, but the resumption of hostilities with the Nazi Reich had guaranteed that her class of seconded officers in the accelerated familiarization programme were put back on the war schedule and had already been passed out.

She rode the turbolift, composed and confident. This was _her_ life, finally free of the choices of others. Stepping along the recessed walkway which served to set the actual bridge apart from the entrance to the planning room, plotting room, astrogation and the Captain’s Ready Room and Sea Cabin, she stole glances through the windows in the wall at the bridge. There set a very familiar figure in the form of Elia Saumarez. The gloves on her hands and the absence of them from her own marked the almost incomparably different cultural influences they had experienced.

Then she got to the Captain’s Ready Room and activated the door chime, bringing herself to attention.

The light shifted colour, and the hatch cycled open. “Come in.” echoed out into the corridor, the Captain looking up from her desk.

The woman stuck her face up, kept her posture proud and confident, and stepped in through the hatch. “Captain, Ma’am. Flying Lieutenant Artesia de Más reporting for duty.”

An honest smile crossed the Dilgar woman’s face, as she stood from behind her desk, and stepped over to shake Artesia’s hand. “Welcome aboard, Lieutenant de Más. It is good to see you again, and I am gratified to have you aboard once again as part of this crew.”

Artesia shook her hand back with a grin on her lips. “It’ll be an honour to serve you, Captain, on this ship which saved my people. And it’s about time I got to serve with the man who fought my brother to a standstill.”

“Oh, I would be more careful about the Chiefs. Still, welcome aboard. He will slot you into the wing, we will be heading out again soon enough, a deep-range mission. Anything you need while we are in ‘civilization’, go ahead and get it now, for it will be replicator rations once we cast off.”

“Captain? A deep-range mission? Well, I’ll make my arrangements then. I’m still getting used to the idea of that meaning more than Jupiter with the hydrogen fleets.”

“Not only another universe, but then following a long-cold trail of an evacuation fleet from a dead Earth. Expect to get a _lot_ of flight time on CAP, Lieutenant.”

“With pleasure, Captain. Thank you for having me aboard.” Her blue eyes gleamed. “Do I stand dismissed?”

“Unless there is anything else, yes. Go ahead and get settled. I am sure Commander Saumarez will also be pleased to have you aboard.” _So I think, anyhow. She misses what she had back home._

 _I don’t really understand the culture of Newtypes back in your home universe she grew up in, but I did take to heart her lessons in how to communicate,_ Artesia cast back with a jerk of surprise at the clear thought intended for her. _So, hopefully it will be a nice surprise._

_I hope so. Welcome aboard, Huáscareño._


End file.
